


when the world comes to gather me in

by orangelightsaber



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Masturbation, basically a canon-setting roadtrip fic, in that hux is only there because he's been kidnapped, neither hux nor ren is particularly nice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-01-25 02:32:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12520976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangelightsaber/pseuds/orangelightsaber
Summary: After the catastrophic defeat at Starkiller, Kylo decides he wont be returning to complete his training, and that he's taking Hux with him, whether Hux likes it or not.





	1. Chapter 1

***

His hands ring loosely around the controls.

 

The pilot sleeps. Ren sleeps. The bloody white-bucket-head troopers sleep. Hux does not. He can't remember the last time he slept. 

 

His vision swims at the edges. They're far now, even with a hyperdrive damaged by Starkiller's implosion. Drifting steadily back to the rendezvous point. 

 

His hands slip from the controls and he sags forward. Hot choking sobs rise in his throat and he swallows them down, or tries. It shouldn't matter. It doesn't matter. No one is listening.

 

Hux stands, wobbles back to the tiny med-bay where Ren is stretched out across a table too small to hold his bulk. He clatters through the cabinets. There have to be stims somewhere, right? They should come standard on this fucking shuttle. 

 

Ren shifts on the table and a small groan slips from his mouth. His eyes are heavy-lidded as he watches Hux.

 

"What are you looking for?" he asks, voice a hoarse croak.

 

Hux deigns to glance back at him for a moment before the smell of burnt flesh becomes overpowering and he can taste sour-hot bile in the back of his throat.

 

The gash that bisects the Knight’s face is just visible, peeking out from beneath the hastily applied bacta and gauze.  It’s charred black against the pallor of his face, swollen and cracked with a thick pulse of red beneath, like lava under broken ground. Hux's stomach churns.

 

He turns back to the cabinet and continues to pile meds in a haphazard heap on the tiny countertop. His search becomes increasingly frantic. His hands are shaking now, the world blurring at the edges as though everything is moving too fast.

 

"You should change that dressing," says Hux, "He won't like to see you like that."

 

"That's where we're going?"

 

"It's where you're going, certainly." Orders are orders, after all. He braces himself against the counter as the world spins around him. 

 

Ren turns away to face the wall. His right arm flops uselessly as he shifts—broken, most likely.

 

"You should sleep," Ren mumbles to the durasteel, "You'll be useless if you're jacked on stims." 

 

"I don't take orders from you."

 

Ren grunts as he slides gracelessly off the table. He paws through the pile of discarded medi-supplies until he pulls out a tube of bacta. Hunching his shoulders down, he slops the clear blue goo across his fingers, wincing as he drags them across the wound, and sags back against the counter, exhausted by the motion.

 

"You need the tank or you'll scar," sneers Hux, in a moment of weakness. Its not his business if Ren wants to remain disfigured.

 

"Don't care," mumbles Ren, unrolling the spool of gauze with his good arm, hand still sticky with bacta.

 

"Here," says Hux, and extends his hand. 

 

The Knight nods and Hux steps forward until he can peer down into Ren's face. He reaches out to unstick several dark curls from where they've become adhered to the slipshod smear of bacta and weeping skin and Ren lets out a puff of air at the gentleness of it, as though he'd been afraid that Hux would hurt him.

 

"I won't, you know," he says, and begins to wind the gauze across Ren's face, taking care to lay it gently across the chasm of his wound. Ren bites his lips and for a moment they are all Hux can see, soft and pink and somehow, miraculously, unmarred. His hand nearly brushes against Ren's mouth as he works.

 

"Won't what?" asks Ren, breath soft against Hux's fingers.

 

"What?" replies Hux, having already forgotten the words of a moment ago.

 

"How long has it been since you last slept?" asks Ren, looking up into his face as though expecting to see the answer written there. His eyes, dark as always, seem infinite.

 

Hux is only vaguely aware that Ren has spoken. "Hm?" he asks, brushing the Knight's hair back further so it won't get caught in the knot as he ties off the gauze. Ren speaks, and they're close enough that Hux can feel the rumble of his voice like distant thunder.

 

"Sleep," says Ren again, and this time there is a deep, off-kilter resonance in his voice. Hux takes several lurching steps toward the chair and collapses. 

 

***

When he wakes he is alone, stretched out on the cold durasteel floor with a thin medical blanket on top of him and a pile of clothes serving as a makeshift pillow. Ren’s handiwork, he supposes, as the events of earlier come back to him in a rush. His hands have already started to shake from the stim withdrawal and he feels both hot and cold at once, clammy-sick. He stumbles out into the cockpit.

 

Something is wrong.

 

Ren occupies the pilot's seat. He's dressed now, in the tattered remains of his robes, but unmasked, his right arm cradled in a sling. The room spins wildly and Hux thinks he might vomit. He retches drily and is greeted only by silence.

 

_Silence._

 

Sudden fear chokes him when he realizes what's missing. "Ren," he begins carefully, softly, "Where is everyone else?"

 

"Gone," says Ren. He doesn't turn around.   

 

Hux staggers against the wall, still dizzy.  _Kriff._ Gone.

 

"Where are we going?" He swallows, mouth dry and tasting of sour sleep.

 

"Away."

 

Hux laughs, a high, manic bark. " _Gone. Away._  Come now Ren, give me real answers." The truth hits him like a punch to the gut "You're running."

 

"Yes."

 

" _Coward."_

"I wouldn't expect you to understand."

 

"So why am I here? Why didn't you space me with the others?"

 

"I gave them a pod." His voice is oddly flat, different from the heated growl to which Hux has become accustomed. His stomach roils again, rebelling in fear. 

 

"Oh so they can die out of your sight, how _kind."_

"They might live." 

 

Hux sags against the wall. Ren's gone mad. It’s the only explanation. 

 

"And me?" he asks, after a moment, "What am I, a—a bargaining chip? You think your family will take you back if you can bring them something of worth? Someone to execute in your stead? My life for your father's?"

 

Ren's jaw spasms. "No."

 

" _Liar_."

 

Hux is shoved against the wall before he can blink, invisible hands pinioning him until he's transfixed—a bug on a pin-board, unable even to writhe. Ren lurches upward, staggering over until he can brace his good arm across Hux's shoulders.

 

"We're not going to the Resistance," he spits, "And I'll warn you to be careful what you say."

 

"Take me back to the Order."

 

"No," says Ren, and releases him.  He turns back to the controls, punching in coordinates for a system Hux doesn't recognize.

 

His further questions are met with silence and so Hux contents himself with watching the stars fall away as they arc forward through the inky black.

 

***

 

Their stop is a rim-side refueling station. A crowded, smelly, neon-lit dump packed to the gills with vendors shouting wares, too-thin prostitutes, and bounty hunters looking out for their next job. Hux dodges elbows as Ren steers him through the crowd with a hand clamped on the back of his neck.

 

They draw little attention here; it’s the kind of place where people prefer not to see. He could shout, perhaps run—but in a place like this whoever caught him would likely return him to Ren for as many credits as they could haggle. He scowls indiscriminately at those around him and is pleased when the force of his glare cuts a slight path through the press of the crowd.

 

Ren stops him short in front of a dingy motel. A pay-by-the-hour place that Hux is certain has never housed any legitimate custom in its history. Ren drags him past the pitiful front desk and the neon-clad dancing girls, each promising them the time of their lives for just a few credits. Drags him down into the shadowed alley before inserting a credit chip into one of the green-lit doors and pressing his thumb to the access pad. The door slides open and the knight ushers Hux inside.

 

The first thing Ren does is spin the transparisteel dial, knocking the window visibility down to zero and hiding them from prying eyes. Some light still manages to get through the cheap tech, of course, bathing them in the soft neon of the outside streets. He disappears into the fresher after that, reemerging after a moment with the gauze peeled back from his face. The bacta has done its work well, the cracked and broken skin of his wound replaced by a thin pink line, puffy and raw. He blinks over at Hux with both eyes, as though surprised that the other man is there.

 

After a moment Ren reaches into his pack, shoving a damp pile of clothes into a stunned Hux’s hands. Hux takes them on instinct, mind still reeling at the edges. He needs to sleep, he realizes. Real, true sleep, not the three-odd hours he can force himself to get on the stims. Otherwise he’s going to have trouble getting out of this mess.

 

“Get changed,” orders the knight.

 

Hux looks down at the clothes in his hands as if seeing them for the first time, sniffs them warily. "Kriff, Ren, it smells like someone died in these."

 

The knight shrugs. 

 

"I'm not wearing them." He lets the bundle drop from his hands to the floor.

 

"Then you'll go naked," says Ren, stretching himself out across the bed. He grunts in pain as his arm catches in the sling.

 

Hux sneers in annoyance. "Can't you, I don't know, magic yourself better?"

 

"No." He readjusts himself on the bed. "It doesn't work like that."

 

For a moment it seems like he might say something further, explain how it _does_  work, but nothing comes out. Instead he lets his head loll back onto the pillows, lets his eyes close with a huff of breath. 

 

"I suppose I'm sleeping on the floor then?" asks Hux.

 

An eye pops open. "You're free to do as you wish."

 

"Then I wish to return to the Order."

 

A second eye joins the first, glaring at him. "Not that."

 

“Fine, then I’ll shower.”

 

Ren lets out a grunt of acknowledgement before closing his eyes again. Hux takes a moment to study him—face pale beneath the raw-red of his wound, hair splayed out behind him like a dark halo. He’s weakened, certainly, and yet Hux has no doubt the other man could best him in a fight. Hux has always been slight, and now, between the stress of Starkiller’s firing and the stims, he’s rail thin.

 

 _The stims._ The thought of them brings their lack into painful clarity. He’s been ignoring it, the ache in his skin that feels half like hunger, but, _kriff_ , there might be some here. Probably someone to buy them from, at least, in this bantha-heap of a place.

 

He stumbles into the ‘fresher and makes his way toward the mirror. He forgoes looking at his reflection and swings the reflectipane forward instead, opening up the small medkit behind. _Fuck._ There’s a place for stims, but its empty. Either the staff forgot to restock after the previous occupant—likely in a kark-hole like this—or Ren beat him to the punch.

 

He’ll just have to find another way to get them. The burst of energy he could get from a stim-shot could give him the strength he needs to evade Ren, if used at the right moment. He growls and swings the mirror closed. He showers for lack of anything better to do, not that it will help him feel better.

 

“Looking for these?” asks Ren when Hux finally deigns to emerge from the refresher. He’s changed in the interim, exchanging his ridiculous Knight’s costume for black pants and a loose grey shirt that ties at his waist. He’s holding up two plungers of stims in an annoyingly triumphant manner.

 

“No,” lies Hux, shaking wet hair back from his eyes. Of course the place hadn’t had a decent sonic—no, instead he’s left feeling half-drowned and small, the last thing he wants to be with Ren’s eyes on him. Especially when those eyes are so arrogant—hungry, even—for the thought of being proved right.

 

“The detox will be unpleasant,” says Ren, as he begins to remove his sling. “But I’ve no doubt you can do it. You’re stronger than you look.”

 

“I’m not an addict,” growls Hux, toeing at the bundle of clothes Ren left him. He’s redressed in his filthy uniform, primarily because it reassured him, but also for the opportunity to spite Ren.

 

“Sure,” agrees Ren, beginning a set of exercises for his injured shoulder. “And I’m sure that knowledge will be very comforting while you vomit your guts out a day from now.” He winces as he stretches his arm out, moving it in slow, deliberate circles. Not broken then, thinks Hux, filing the information away for later use, but probably still weak.

 

They remain silent for a long moment, Ren, engrossed by his stretches, Hux, collecting his thoughts and intermittently scanning the room for any possible angle of escape.

 

Ren’s voice breaks his train of thought. “Hungry?”

 

Hux has no desire to eat whatever passes for food in this place, but it won’t do him any good to weaken himself further. “Yes.”

 

Ren nods and begins the process of rewrapping his sling. “I won’t be long.”

 

In his absence Hux makes another pass through the room, scouting out anything of use. There’s sparse little to be had, a holoprojector with a receiver unit but no broadcast capabilities, the few toiletries in the fresher, a chill-unit stocked with assorted candies and liquors. No, escape is probably his best bet, if he can just figure out how to dupe the biolock.

 

True to his word, Ren returns quickly, startling Hux in his examination of the locking mechanism. The knight frowns at him, but raises a pair of plastene containers cradled against his chest. “Food.”

 

Hux reaches out to take one, hands brushing awkwardly against Ren’s chest. He can’t be sure if it’s just his imagination, but the other man seems to flinch at his touch.

 

With no other available surface, they sit on the bed, turned awkwardly half away from each other. The container crinkles as Hux peels it open, freeing its innards. They’re noodles, swimming in brown sauce and studded with chunks of some unidentified meat product. The kind of meal he hasn’t had since his Academy days. The smell is surprisingly appealing as it wafts up to greet him.

 

Not feeling the need to stand on ceremony, he spoons noodles hastily into his mouth with the omni-tensil Ren hands him. He can tell without opening it that the knife and fork portions have been removed. The thought cheers him slightly, that Ren is perhaps not fully confident in his capture.

 

Ren slurps loudly, and when Hux leans back to glare at him he finds the other man’s eyes already locked on him. The expression on Ren’s face is oddly soft. Hux can’t remember if he’s ever seen Ren smile before, and yet, here it is—a small, shy thing, slinking in at the corners of his mouth. The knight reaches over to brush his thumb against Hux’s cheek.

 

“You’ve got sauce on your face,” he says, and the smile widens, showing a hint of crooked teeth. “Just there.”

 

Hux flinches back from his touch. “ _Don’t._ ”

 

The softness in Ren’s face flickers and breaks, replaced by his usual scowl. “Suit yourself.”

 

The room becomes at once stifling; Ren’s bulk too close, the shadowy shapes that pass their window suddenly menacing. Ignoring Ren’s protests, Hux retreats to the refresher with his noodles, locking the door and leaning up against it with a huff of breath. The food feels heavy in his belly, rich after too many days of not eating enough. He hurls it away, taking some small satisfaction in the _glop_ of sauce against the fresher unit.

 

The past ten hours sit like a weight on his chest. He’s a hostage for some unknown purpose, trapped in the clutches of a man who up till now has been his professional nemesis. For whatever reason, he believes Ren that he has no plan to sell him to the Resistance, but that certainly doesn’t preclude the option of selling him to someone else, or simply killing him in the hope that it will win him favor with the right people.

 

The room spins.

 

He watches the sauce run down the wall until he no longer knows how much time has passed. Somewhere, in between the steady _drip drip drip_ of the sauce and the bustling noise of the station, he sleeps.

 

He dreams of Ren. Ren, made whole in fire and ink, burning and black, consuming himself as he consumes Hux. Ren, in the labyrinth of the station underbelly, bathed in neon as he disappears into the crowd. Ren, terrified, with his hands around Hux’s throat, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing until there is no more breath, until he feels his chest might burst with the strength of it, and then Ren, again, smiling, rubbing his thumb softly across Hux’s cheek.

 

He wakes, later, with a start, to the sound of voices in the other room. He stumbles out before he can think—voices mean people and people could mean help. But there’s no one else in the room, Ren’s simply turned on the holoscreen and— _fuck_.

 

As is typical in accommodations of this sort, the higher holochannels are almost exclusively pornography. The holo blinks in and out, figures fuzzy with poor reception, but still discernable as they writhe against each other.

 

He stands hypnotized by the flickering glow as an orgy of figures move across the screen. The centerpiece is a man on his back, surrounded by a myriad of multi-hued alien cocks. Hux’s body wakes before his brain, a low moan sending a pulse of heat down his spine and into his groin.

 

The wet sound of flesh on flesh breaks the spell. He looks to his right and sees Ren, cock in hand, sprawled out across the tiny motel room. And what a cock it is, flush-red and leaking against the jut of his hipbones. Hux’s stomach clenches at the sight of those _hands_.

 

“Kriff. _Ren_ ,” he snaps.

 

“What?” mumbles Ren, wringing his hand faster along his cock. His eyes flick to Hux before returning to the holoscreen.

 

“Can’t you do that somewhere else?”

 

“No,” grunts Ren, “Someone was— _ah_ —occupying the fresher and since I’d like to sleep tonight…” He trails off, arching back against the bed so he can fuck up into his fist with renewed vigor.

 

Hux can’t tear his eyes away. “Filthy,” he mutters, hypnotized by the sight of Ren’s cock siding in and out of his fist. He’s always found Ren to be unfortunately attractive, but thankfully the man has the personality equivalent of a cold shower. It’s easier to ignore here, though, with Ren silent and half-lit by neon glow of the holo, lips trapped between his teeth. The man on the screen is moaning louder now, reaching back over his shoulder to massage one of the Twilek’s head-tails as the alien ruts into him.

 

“If you’re going to watch, you might as well help.”

 

Hux’s breath returns to him in a little choke. “No—I—” He takes a step back. “You’re disgusting,” he spits, and retreats, red-faced, into the fresher.

 

He leans against the door, locking it once more behind him. His heart thuds uncomfortably against the cage of his ribs. This can’t be right. He’s not attracted to Ren. Ren fucking _kidnapped_ him, for kriff’s sake. He looks down at his hands and sees that they’re shaking. Right. Yes. That’s what this is—stim withdrawal, that’s all. He’s not attracted to Ren, his body is just on edge from lack of sleep and stress. It’s nothing more than a physiological response.

 

He pointedly ignores the tightness of his trousers in favor of reexamining the medicine cabinet. He upends its contents, displacing bottles of pills written in alien languages to examine their contents. A green bottle seems familiar, and he thinks he recognizes the Rodian word for _caf_ printed sideways along the label. He shakes out two pills, tiny yellow tabs, and pockets them, breathing steadier at their presence.

 

His body feels tight and achy, but there’s no way he’s going back out into the room, so he curls himself up against the wall—counting the drips from the leaky faucet until he drifts off into something like sleep. He’s awoken hours later by Ren pounding on the door.

 

“Let me in Hux, I need to piss.”

 

Hux considers leaving him outside, but he figures the more he annoys Ren the more likely he is to be sold for bounty, so instead he sighs, standing so he can disengage the lock. But as he reaches out to do so it beeps open on its own and Ren charges in headlong, slamming into him chest to chest.

 

They tumble to the floor, Ren’s bulk nearly crushing him in the small space.

 

“ _Kriff_ , I was about to open it,” he says, frowning up the other man.

 

“Good morning.” Ren grins obnoxiously at him. “I thought you might let me suffer.”

 

“You’d deserve it,” grouses Hux, doing his best to dislodge Ren from on top of him. He can’t help but remember the night before—the way Ren’s hair had splayed out across the pillow, the way his teeth had caught in his bottom lip. He shoves harder.

 

“I would, wouldn’t I?” agrees Ren, hefting himself up with his good arm and wincing as he rearranges the other.

 

Hux frowns at him suspiciously. This is a different Ren than he’s used to. Less volatile, somehow, despite the kidnapping and desertion. Ren manages to undo his trousers one-handed before Hux has the foresight to retreat into the room. He perches awkwardly at the edge of the bed until Ren reappears.

 

“What’s put you in such a good mood?”

 

“I found a ship.”

 

“We have a ship.”

 

“Yes, well, I sold that one,” says Ren, “We needed credits and something to get around in that won’t have the Order on high alert.”

 

“So we’re going somewhere?” asks Hux.

 

“Of course we’re—” Ren frowns at him, “Did you think I’d planned to hide in this kark-hole forever?”

 

Hux lays back across the bed with an air of nonchalance, staring at the cracked plaster of the ceiling. “To be honest I hadn’t expected you to have a plan at all.”

 

“Well I _have_ one,” growls Ren, all previous good humor gone. Hux feels an odd comfort in that. At least he still knows which buttons to push. He bites back a smile of triumph before a pile of clothes drops down on him from above.

 

He squawks indignantly and sits up, toppling everything onto the bedspread.

 

“Get changed,” says Ren. “We’re going.”

 

Hux scowls at him. “I would prefer to wear my uniform.”

 

“And _I_ would prefer not to be here when the Order tracks the ship we came on. Strip.”

 

Hux rolls his eyes but acquiesces. He can feel Ren’s gaze on him as he turns his back, unbuttoning his uniform shirt and discarding it before tugging the blue long-sleeved shirt over his head. He stares down at the logo on his chest, some sort of smiling, anthropomorphized fish accompanied by an unfamiliar scrawl of writing.

 

“Pants too,” says Ren from behind him. “Yours are ridiculous.”

 

Hux forgoes arguing that point and instead shoves his jodhpurs down, rolling his eyes as he tugs on the pants he’s been given. They fit; thankfully, and still manage to tuck into his boots when he turns around to pull them on.

 

“What’s this nonsense?” he asks Ren, indicating the grinning fish.

 

“Um,” Ren leans closer to read the text, the smell of him almost pleasant over the funk of the clothes. “It says ‘Lumi Bars: The Taste of the Ocean.’” He raises his brows. “I think they’re popular on Mon Calamari.” He meets Hux’s gaze, and that faint half-smile is once again on his face. “The color’s nice.”

 

“Mon Calamari.” Hux crinkles his nose. “Explains the smell.”

 

“Yes, well. Sorry we aren’t up to your exacting standards General.”

 

“ _Don’t_.” It’s the first time Ren’s used his title since they began this little charade. It stings.

 

Ren’s smile evaporates. “Right. Well. Time to go.”

 

“No,” says Hux, sitting back down on the edge of the bed and crossing his arms. It’s petulant, certainly, but it relieves his feelings somewhat.

 

“No?”

 

“I’m not going with you. I don’t know what mad crusade you’re on, but I don’t want any part of it.”

 

“ _Hux_.”

 

“ _No._ What, you thought I would just go along with whatever you wanted?” Ren is looming over him now, and Hux’s fingers clench unconsciously in the coverlet, as though that will be enough to prevent Ren from bodily pulling him away. “You hate me and I hate you. There’s no reason to pretend otherwise. I’m not going to consent to being dragged around until you find someone you can sell me to, in fact--”

 

The objects in the room shake violently, clattering against the walls as Ren’s body goes tight with tension. “We need to go. I don’t have time for this.”

 

“So make time.”

 

Ren clenches his fist and Hux is pulled forward, gripped by an invisible hand. His vision goes star-bright around the edges, white and pulsing— _fuck_ —as everything narrows to a single focus—the dark spots of Ren’s eyes like black holes boring into him, dragging him to his doom. He can’t remember if Ren’s ever used the Force on him before; but it feels wrong now, too tight and buzzing, like a horde of insects beneath his skin and then he’s crashing against Ren’s chest and they’re both stumbling backwards. Pain blooms high across his cheekbone as he pitches hard against the wall.

 

“I. Don’t.” Ren’s eyes flick back and forth from Hux’s face to the exit, “I don’t hate you.”

 

“ _What_?”

 

But Ren doesn’t answer, instead reaching out and brushing his fingers along Hux’s cheek, they come back wet with blood.

 

“ _No_ ,” cries Hux, flinching back from Ren’s touch.

 

Ren’s face is pained. “Kriff. Hux. You don’t have to keep flinching away from me like some kind of maker-damned _animal_. _Fuck._ ”

 

Hux shoves his hands against Ren’s chest, relishing the wince when he makes contact with his injured shoulder. “ _What do you want from me?_ ”

 

Ren merely whines and angles his arm away. Hux shoves him again. “Tell me.”

 

“I don’t _know_.”

 

Hux comes up short, the anger in his belly petering out like a summer rain. “What?”

 

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. I. I just. We have to go. They’re coming.”

 

“ _Who’s_ coming?”

 

Ren glares at him. “Lets just _go_.” His tone softens. “Please. We need to go.”

 

“Fine,” spits Hux, turning toward the door.

 

Ren makes a small sound of relief behind him and follows, reaching around Hux to press his hand against the access pad. The broad feel of Ren’s chest against his back makes Hux’s heart stutter wildly, but whether in fear or some other emotion he cant be sure. The knight retreats quickly, shrinking back from Hux as if burned by his touch.

 

“Sorry,” he mutters again, before brushing past Hux into the neon-bright false daylight.

 

***

 

They make their way to a small hangar. Dirty, but that seems simply to be the state of things around here. Ren nods at the guards posted at the door, young enough to be called children on most planets, and they let him through with little ceremony.

 

“Follow my lead,” says Ren as they draw close to the ship, “And don’t say anything.”

 

Hux raises his brows, but says nothing as Ren’s posture changes, dropping his normal stiff stride for a more jocular walk, and stretching a broad grin across his face. In seconds he’s the very picture of the rascal smuggler.

 

“And here she is,” says Ren loudly, slapping the side of a smallish freighter. It’s an old class, Corellian made, and looks like it’s gone through hell and didn’t quite make it out in one piece. The xeno standing beneath the wing looks up from his clipboard and grins widely.

 

“Ah Mr. Redsun! Everything’s all here and accounted for. My boys are just unloading the last of our cargo now, then she’s all yours.” He squints at Hux, taking in his disheveled appearance and the sling binding Ren’s arm. “This your man then?”

 

“No,” says Hux immediately.

 

Ren scowls at him momentarily before grinning back at the xeno. “He’s my…companion,” he explains, using the rim-world vernacular for _slave._

 

“Ah, its like that is it?” nods the man, “Awful skinny, that one. You know, I could sell you one better, stronger. I’ve had a few pass through my hands with a pelt like that.” He gestures at Hux’s hair. “If you’re looking to upgrade.”

 

Hux’s lip curls back instinctively but Ren is already speaking. “I’ve considered it,” he says, grinning at the man in a way that seems to set the xeno at ease. “A matching pair might be a nice thing, considering.”

 

Hux stiffens. Surely Ren isn’t serious, but this game is wearing thin his patience. Something about the thought of Ren standing before a row of handsome red-haired men sets his teeth on edge.

 

He pushes past Ren and up the ramp, leaving the small satchel of his things at Ren’s feet. Let him bring them if he’s so delighted to play house.

 

The cockpit is small but serviceable, and, he thinks as he inspects one of the seats, it looks as though it might even have been cleaned recently. He sits, feels his pocket and curses when he realizes the caf pills are in the bag he left with Ren. He’s about to get up and inspect the comm array (though he has no illusions that its powerful enough to suit his purposes, not in a planet hopper like this) when Ren barges up the ramp, the fake smile he’d worn with the vendor replaced by his usual scowl.

 

He tosses the satchel at Hux with more force than necessary and Hux allows himself a small grin.

 

“Where are we going?” he asks as Ren hurls himself into the pilot’s chair.

 

“You’ll find out when we get—,” the hum of blaster fire cuts through the thought. Ren slaps at the controls and mutters obscenity beneath his breath as Hux peers out the viewport to see the commotion.

 

Three black-clad figures are disposed throughout the hangar. Hux can see the xeno smuggler on the ground, rather worse for the wear with a smoking cut where one of his feet used to be.

 

“Ren, those are—”

 

“Kriff, kriff, _kriff_ ,” growls Kylo as he punches the final coordinates into the system. The ship groans as it takes off, and for a moment Hux can see one of the figures, hand outstretched, in front of them and the ship seems to stutter in the air. But then Ren makes a motion like wiping fog from glass and they are free, hurling out into space.

 

 ***


	2. Chapter 2

***

As soon as the station is out of sight Ren jabs the hyperdrive and the stars around them melt into blue-white streaks. Ren slumps back against the chair, wincing when he jars his injured shoulder.

 

“Fuck,” he mutters, and reaches up to rub at his temple.

 

“What the _hell_ was that?” demands Hux, taking the opportunity while Ren’s back is turned to rifle through his bag of clothes and transfer the caf pills to his pocket.

 

“It doesn’t matter.”

 

“Like kriff it doesn’t,” says Hux. “How did they even know we were gone—we weren’t due to reunite with the fleet for days.”

 

Ren laughs, scrubbing his hands over his face, almost manic. “He _knows_. Of course he knows. He’s got me.”

 

Hux resists the urge to hurl his bag across the room. Of course he had to be kidnapped by the one idiot who could be tracked anywhere in the galaxy by his master and a posse of lunatics. “We still have time,” he says, keeping his voice calm in an attempt to appeal to Ren’s better nature, if he has one. “If we go back now, the Supreme Leader will surely forgive you. Everything can go back to the way it was.”

 

Ren barks another laugh. The movement tears the skin at the edges of his wound and he hisses. “Nothing can ever go back to how it was,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s lies upon lies, isn’t it?” He raises a hand to his cheek and curses when it comes back pinpricked with blood. He gestures with bloody fingers as if to say, _see_?, and pushes past Hux on his way to the fresher.

 

Hux sneers at him as he passes, waiting till he’s out of sight to pull one of the caf pills from his pocket and swallow it swiftly, breathing a sigh of relief as the mild stimulant hits him. In the moments of clarity that follow he stands, striding over to the navigation console and glancing at the coordinates. Ah. Retrivaad System. Something he recognizes at least, though why Ren would take them to a system known for backwater towns and nerf-herding he has no idea.

 

He reaches out to activate the starchart, wondering if perhaps he can hone in on exactly what planet they’re headed to, when Ren’s hand comes down on his wrist, pulling it up between them.

 

“ _Hey_ ,” says the Knight, “Don’t do that.”

 

His pulse beats flutter-fast beneath the skin, and he wonders if Ren can feel it, wonders if Ren knows about the pills. They lock eyes for a moment before Hux pulls his wrist away. Ren’s put a thin black bacta-patch on his wound. It gives him an oddly charming, rakish air, which in turn makes Hux want to rip it off.

 

“Care to tell me why we’re going to Retrivaad?” he asks instead.

 

He doesn’t expect an answer, but Ren grunts, “Information,” before settling back into the pilot’s seat.

 

“Information that has the Knights of Ren after us?”

 

Ren gives him a look. “Obviously.”

 

“You know if you told me what was going on there’s a chance I could help you.”

 

Ren pauses, considering. His eyes rake over Hux, as though weighing whether there was any truth in the statement (there wasn’t) and determining whether Hux would simply use whatever information he was given against his captor (he would). “What do you know about the living Force?”

 

The question brings Hux up short. The true answer, quite reasonably of course, is _nothing_ , but he’s fairly certain any hesitation will be seen as lack of cooperation by Ren and he’s not yet willing to give up his chance at finding out something that might help him.

 

“Um, well, it’s alive, I suppose.”

 

Ren stares at him for a moment, blinks, and then bursts into laughter.

 

“ _What?”_ asks Hux, gritting his teeth.

 

“No, it’s just—,” begins Ren, “Maybe that’s not the best place to start.” He runs his hand through his hair and checks their coordinates before continuing. “Tell me about Starkiller Base. The planet. Before you built on it.”

 

Hux breathes out through his nose, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He really doesn’t want to participate in whatever history lesson Ren is devising here, particularly not when it would a simple matter of accessing the archives back on the Finalizer. “KL-1212. It was a small class planet, 3A, if I remember correctly. Uninhabited. Not part of any known star system.”

 

“And Kyber rich,” prompts Ren.

 

Hux pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes. Kyber rich. Is there a point to this exercise?”

 

“And after all the crystals were mined out? Once it was a Kyber shell. That’s when the Order started seeing some success, isn’t it?” Kylo bites his lips. “Before that you’d been having trouble with the reconditioning program.”

 

Hux frowns at him. “That’s classified information, Ren. How did you access that?”

 

Ren shrugs, eyes shifting from Hux’s face. “Does it matter? It’s true.”

 

“A informational breach certainly matters and is something I will need to remedy upon my return,” sneers Hux.

 

“Right,” agrees Ren noncommittally. “Regardless. Once KL-1212 had become a Kyber shell everything ran more smoothly. The Stormtrooper program experienced great success, reconditioning was suddenly easier, Officers who had previously experienced feelings of dissent fell in line—”

 

“The point, Ren?”

 

“The point is—that’s the absence of the living Force. It’s—um. Well, it’s like a hole that draws in emotion. Life. Feelings.”

 

“ _And_?” asks Hux, tired of this game.

 

Kylo’s voice goes soft. “And, what if there was a person like that?”

 

“A person like—” begins Hux, not understanding, but he is cut off by an incoming hail transmission.

 

_“Hopper-class 5188, this is the Port of Retrivaad. Please give your call sign and destination.”_

 

Ren curses under his breath and turns to the comm array. “Copy that Port of Retrivaad, this is Hopper 5188, call sign—,” he fiddles with the array, bringing up the ship stats, “Call sign, uh, _Huge Weapon_. Destination: The Atrashi Star Festival.”

 

“Huge Weapon?” mouths Hux incredulously, scowling when Ren places his hand over the receiver and motions for him to be quiet.

 

“It was already named that when we bought it.”

 

Hux arches a brow. After being forced to bear witness himself, he has no doubt that Ren probably regularly applies the term _huge_ to his weapon, but he schools his face into an affected look of disinterest. No need to give the knight ideas. “Indeed.”

 

“It _was_ ,” hisses Ren furiously, before once again being distracted by the voice crackling out through the comm array.

 

“Roger that _Weapon_ , you’re cleared for landing. Docking bay 804 should be prepped to receive you.”

 

Ren disconnects without the customary thanks and inputs the coordinates for their docking bay. He stands, rummaging through the bag of his things to pull out a coat. Hux watches with amusement as he struggles to get his injured arm into the coat and stifles a snort as the knight adjusts his hair in the scratched ship’s mirror.

 

“A _festival_ , Ren? Suddenly your 'mission' is to gallivant across the galaxy?” Ren says nothing, simply pulls the collar up on his coat and smoothes down the edges of his bacta patch before walking to the ship’s door and pressing his hand to the biometric scan.

 

“Wait here. Don’t touch anything, I’ll be back for you.”

 

“Off to share your _huge weapon_ with the world?” sneers Hux.

 

He can see Ren bite his lips at that, holding back a smile. “Jealousy really doesn’t suit you.” And with that, he’s gone.

 

Ignoring Ren’s parting jab, Hux leaps to his feet. Let Ren think him jealous if that will distract him. He can feel the caf humming through his veins as he examines the cockpit. The door lock beeps angrily when he presses his hand against the pad—alright, that was a longshot anyway. But the comm array, now that might be something. He fiddles with the dials, dialing in his private frequency. The ship likely doesn’t have the range to reach the Order from this quadrant, but if he’s lucky the docking bay itself might have an unsecured line he can dial into. He sets the array to scan, drumming his fingers nervously along the console, and tries not to wonder what it is Ren is doing. Probably just making a nuisance of himself.

 

The comm beeps, alerting him that there is an available frequency he can patch into. He taps the keys, feeding his signal into the mess, and pauses—who should he contact? Phasma? She’d sell him down the river without a second thought. It’s probably safest to ping the bridge—that way he’ll reach the maximum number of people. Odds are one of them will want to help him, right? He punches in the number, and waits.

 

“General Hux?” Mitaka’s voice crackles through the comm, nearly intelligible. “Sir?”

 

“Lieutenant,” replies Hux in relief, someone is there. Someone he can trust to tell him what’s going on. “Lieutenant, report. What is the situation? Who is in command of the Order? What is the narrative regarding my disappear—”

 

Mitaka’s voice cuts him off, the sound guttering in and out. Hux is unsure whether the Lieutenant can even hear him. “General Hux. Sir. Please. Don’t come back. They’re here—” the comm crackles and spits, “—you gone—and charges against—” _krssshhhhh_ “—stay away—tracking the signal—” _shhh_ “—dangerous—” The transmission ends abruptly.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” barks Hux, slamming his fist against the comm array. The static cracks sharply, as though cursing back at him. _Kriffing shit-comm planet hoppers_ _and their fucking terrible comms_.

 

His chest feels tight as he paces, trapped in the too-small cockpit. _They’re here._ They. The knights of Ren? Could this be Snoke’s plot to seize control of the Order once and for all? Sending his apprentice to make sure Hux was kept out of the way for whatever coup he had planned? He pauses. Could it be as simple as that?

 

His train of thought is broken by Ren’s sudden return. He seems cheered by his absence, dashing about their craft with a frantic energy Hux hasn’t seen in him before. Hux remains slumped in his chair, arms folded tightly across his chest.

 

“Well?” asks Ren after a moment, “Is that what you’re going to wear?”

 

“Wear to what?” Hux looks down at his chest only to see the Lumi fish, it’s upside down grin mocking him. “You made me wear this,” he says, as an afterthought.

 

“The Star Festival,” says Ren, as though it should be obvious.

 

“Weren’t you just—,” he begins, but Ren has no time for questions as he is already tugging Hux out the ship by the wrist.

 

“Come _on_ ,” he grumbles, “We really can’t stay in one place too long and this is worth it.”

 

Hux pulls his wrist back as soon as he can manage it, deflecting Ren’s glare with a tilt of his chin. They make their way out of the dusty docking bay into the street of the small town, a rustic, sea-side village. Hux keeps an eye out for the tell-tale antennae that would signal a comm array of sufficient power, but to his surprise he sees nothing of the sort. No power lines, no power cells anywhere. Kriff, some of the windows have _candles_ in them. He hides a sneer. Despite the rim-kin humble quality of the town, the air has the audacity to smell of fresh baked bread and roasting meat. Hux feels his stomach rumble ambitiously.

 

“Hungry?” laughs Ren, stalking toward the center of town.

 

“No,” lies Hux, but the wafting scents make him less hesitant to follow Ren. It seems to be summer in this hemisphere, and the sweet, warm air of the day is fading as the sky begins to darken, tingeing blue-purple at the edges of the horizon. The streets are filled with tents advertising food or games or triple star themed merchandise. Each stall has walls made of deep blue velvet, sown through with silver thread to give the impression of a night sky. The butter-bread smell grows stronger as Ren stops in front of one of the stalls.

 

“One red nova flavor and one white dwarf,” demands Ren, pointing at the attendant pictures. “Oh, and two of the poppers.”

 

The Atrashi nods in response, pulling two steaming treats out of the oven and handing them over. Hux rolls his eyes as Ren waves a hand in front of the man’s face, the muttered words _we have already paid for these_ resonating further than they should in the noisy street.

 

“Is that really the best use of your skill?” asks Hux when Ren turns around.

 

Ren merely smirks and pushes a sweet and a popper into Hux’s hand. “Live a little,” he says, stuffing a corner of pastry into his mouth. “Mmph,” he exclaims around the dough, “It’s good!”

 

Hux peels back the waxed paper and bites tentatively into the warm pastry. Mildly sweet, yeasted dough meets his tongue, followed by a burst of sour-sweet berry flavor. “Red nova,” he comments blithely. He examines the popper, holding it away from himself as though it might explode at any moment.

 

Ren is now tugging at the ends of his poppers, grinning widely as it goes off in his hand with a bang and a whiff of smoke. He sifts through the tiny prizes within, tugging out a silver circlet of plastene stars and setting it grandly on his head.

 

Hux pops his hesitantly, staring down at the assortment of items in his palm. Ren snags a star-shaped hair clip, presumably designed for a small girl child, and pins it to Hux’s head with undisguised glee. “Perfect.”

 

Hux reaches up immediately to remove it, but Ren stills his hand. “No, you have to wear it until sunset,” he explains. “That’s what they’re for.”

 

“Sunset?” asks Hux, deciding he’ll simply remove the clip as soon as Ren has forgotten about it.

 

“It’s the point of the festival,” explains Ren, “Because of the trinary sun system. There’s only a nightfall every twelve years. So. Rare to see the stars.”

 

“Ah,” says Hux, not quite understanding why that should be exciting to him. He saw the stars every day onboard the Finalizer.

 

“Now we explore,” says Ren, childishly tugging Hux along by the hand. “And then we’ve got to find a good place to watch.”

 

With the warmth of the sweet pastry in his hand and the comforting buzz of the crowd, Hux finds himself not minding as the knight drags him from stall to stall. A drink is pressed into his hand, purple-pink and studded with chewy stars that fizz on his tongue when he bites into them.

 

“Here,” says Ren, stopping them in front of a stall. Inside there are three overturned barrels, each with several gold-painted wooden pins sitting atop them. The Atrashi in front of them grins widely, displaying a number of very sharp silver teeth.

 

“Gennelmen, gennelmen, step right up,” he cries, “Knock over the pins and win a prize for your sweetie.” He gestures to the sign beside him, which details the equivalent prize for each number of pins knocked over.

 

Hux glares and Ren grins broadly.

 

“Three each,” says Ren, waving his hand casually in front the man’s face. The Atrashi comes back with six glowing orbs, painted to look like star bursts. Ren nods in thanks and pushes three into Hux’s hands. Kylo lines himself up in front of one of the barrels, testing the weight of the first orb in his hand. He winds up, throws, and misses impressively, nearly striking the set of pins atop the neighboring barrel. The second and third orbs are more of the same, and the Atrashi host makes a big show of jumping out of the way, as though Ren’s stray throws might bring down the whole tent.

 

Hux isn’t sure whether it’s the alcohol or the extremely sore expression on Ren’s face, but he bursts into laughter.

 

“My shoulder’s still injured,” objects Ren when Hux comes up to breathe.

 

“Sure,” agrees Hux, still clutching his sides. He holds up his empty drink container. “Get me another drink?”

 

“Trade me for your throws.”

 

Hux nods, handing over his orbs when Ren returns with another drink, this time an orange-green concoction that tastes vaguely of meiloorun and contains more glitter than a human should probably consume. The fizzy taste of it heats his cheeks, and he leans back against the side of the stall as he watches Ren line up his next shot.

 

The orb leaves his hand off-target, but as Hux watches it seems to curve mid-air, subtly warping back until it’s in-line to strike the very center of the pins. They topple accordingly, a last pin tottering back and forth until it too joins its brethren on the floor.

 

“Would ya look at that!” crows the salesman, turning away from another customer to both grin at Ren and squint his eyes suspiciously. “Wide-shot over here finally managed to hit one!” As he walks over to grab the appropriate prize, he manages to nearly trip over one of the spilled pins that has, seemingly of its own volition, rolled to rest directly under his foot. Ren snorts loudly and Hux bites his lip to prevent himself joining in.

 

The man grumbles as he hands over the prize, a star-shaped silver plush toy that hovers when the button inside it is pressed.

 

“You cheated,” accuses Hux as soon as they’re out of earshot.

 

Ren simply smirks and pushes the toy into his hands. “You’re welcome.”

 

Hux huffs at that but allows himself to be pulled back over to the food stalls, finding himself more agreeable at the promise of further nourishment. Ren gathers up a small basket of breads, cheeses, and meats, accompanied by tiny jars of sweet and savory sauce, and a large, corked bottle of something that glows softly. Hux arches a brow at him. He’s never seen Ren drink before, had thought it for some reason forbidden to him.

 

The crowd undulates around them, finding their places along the cliff overlooking the ocean as the light begins to fade, the first nightfall in twelve years.

 

“C’mon,” says Ren, “I see a place where we can sit.” He pulls Hux away from the crowd, through to an open field to their right, and Ren settles down amid the red stalks of grass, leaning his back against a still-warm out cropping of rock. Hux sits awkwardly beside him, angling himself so that their shoulders won’t touch.

 

He can feel the earlier caf pill starting to wear off, not nearly as strong as he needed, and he clenches his hands in his lap to hide the slight tremor. He needn’t have worried, however, as Ren is fully preoccupied with setting out the assortment of food items and popping the cork on the glowing bottle.

 

He peers curiously into the neck and takes a tentative first sip. Judging by the face he makes, it’s not to his liking.

 

“You don’t drink,” observes Hux.

 

“I could,” scowls Ren, swirling the liquid around until it glints in the dying light, but not taking another sip. “I can do anything now. Feel anything. Nothing is forbidden anymore.”

 

He passes the bottle to Hux, who frowns into it and takes a delicate sip, and then a deeper one when the liquor is sweet and woody and the heat of it floods his veins and relaxes the tightness in his muscles that comes from the stim-lack and the unease of whatever Ren has in store for him.

 

Ren arranges and re-arranges his legs, studying the horizon with an intensity that belies his true focus. Every few seconds he peers at Hux, eyes flicking quickly up then back. Gauging the General’s reaction.

 

“Is that what this is all about then?” asks Hux, after he’s felt Ren’s gaze on him for the fourth time in minutes and is annoyed by its ability to distract him from the delicate warmth of the evening air. “You ran away because you’ve been feeling cooped up in your order? The Knights of Ren weren’t letting you have enough _fun_?”

 

“No,” growls Ren. “I _told_ you. You still don’t understand.”

 

“Well perhaps if you’re explanation had included actually _explaining anything_ I’d be further along. And while you’re at it, maybe you could tell me why I’m necessary to this process at all. And _then_ you could give me the ignition sequence for the ship and let me go on my merry way—”

 

“ _No_ ,” says Ren again. He pulls the bottle out of Hux’s hands and takes an angry gulp, grimacing as the liquid hits his tongue.

 

Hux scowls at him and pulls the hair clip off his head, nearly crushing it in his haste to remove it. He considers throwing it at Ren and settles for letting it fall out of his hand and into the dirt. “Will you at least tell me what our next stop on this wonderful tour of the galaxy is? What wondrous pleasures have we yet to behold that you couldn’t see as an agent of the First Order?” He taps his finger against his chin mockingly, “Lets see, we’ve already experienced the joys of masturbating in a disgusting motel room, being hunted by knights, and watching you cheat at carnival games. I can only imagine what you have in store for us next.”

 

“What do you care?” growls Ren, “Didn’t _Mitaka_ tell you everything you needed to know?”

 

“Right, I’m sorry. I forgot I wasn’t supposed to try to escape from being _kidnapped_ because you decided to take me to a festival.” His cheeks burn from alcohol and fury, and more so from the sight of Ren in front of him, silver stars threaded into the dark of his hair, looking annoyingly like some sort of storybook prince.

 

“Right,” snarls Ren, his face inches away. “I should have left you with the rest of them.”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” agrees Hux, “You should have.”

 

“Well, I’ll,” Ren’s face is close enough now that Hux can feel the heat of his breath, “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

 

Hux opens his mouth to retort, but a deep call rises from around them and draws Ren’s gaze. Though the suns haven’t yet slipped beyond the horizon, the first star is visible in the sky. Another call breaks the night, and another, as more and more stars break through the fading light. The reptilian Atrashi are standing, linking hands as they look to the sky. A deep hum resonates out from each being, the sound of it like a physical press against his chest. Each breath comes shaky.

 

After a while the hum shifts and he can hear voices at the edges of it, melding in and out. He can hear the announcement that was played when he made General, the voice of his father the day he was accepted into the Academy, and beneath them, so faint he can barely hear it, the voice of a woman, long enough ago that he had almost forgotten. He can hear soft strains of the song she used to sing him to sleep, _her Tash, her darling boy_. He aches in a way he hasn’t since he was young and new in the world, and when he reaches up to touch his face he realizes that he’s crying and he doesn't quite understand why.

 

And then, as quickly as it began, the hum fades. Slipping away over them as the last of the light disappears behind the horizon.

 

For a long moment no one moves. Not the people gathered at the edge of the water, not the vendors packing up their wares, even the wind seems to pause. Through the wetness at the corner of his eyes Hux can see that Ren’s head is thrown back to look at the stars. He’s breathing hard, his fingers clenched tight around the strands of grass—so tight he threatens to rip them from the ground.

 

Hux wonders what he must have heard, in the whispers of the hum. He reaches over to touch Ren’s shoulder, to make sure he’s alright or well, something, but the Knight flinches back. “We have to go,” mutters Ren, hunching away from Hux to hide his face. “I didn’t—I thought it would take them longer. But they're close.”

 

Hux nods, rubs his hands through his hair. He ought to fight it of course. Delay Ren here until the Order can reach them, and yet—there’s something vulnerable in Ren that intrigues him. Why bring them here, if the intent is only to remove Hux from his position?

 

They walk back to the ship in silence, a silence that holds as Ren punches the next set of coordinates into the nav-com. They’re travelling rim-ward, away from the central planets and away from the hub of the Order. Hux’s stomach churns as they make the jump to lightspeed. He fingers the remaining caf pill in his pocket. Should he have made his stand here, where he was still close enough to catch transport after escaping? Each day he waits allows Ren a day to take him further, gives Snoke another day of full control over the Order, another day to turn Hux’s men against him.

 

“It’s not a coup,” snaps Ren, slapping his chest to release his harness and standing. His cheeks are flushed, but whether from the alcohol or from crying is anyone’s guess.

 

“Stay out of my head,” says Hux, doing his best to think of nothing.

 

“It’s hard when you’re thinking _at_ me.”

 

“I’m just thinking.”

 

Ren approaches the ship’s tiny kitchen, opening drawers and cabinets until he finally manages to hunt down a dusty glass. He holds it up to the light and makes a face but fills it anyway. “How are you feeling?”

 

He thinks for a moment that Kylo must be talking about the stims, that he must know about the caf pills. But when Hux doesn’t respond immediately Ren continues on.

 

“You heard the hum, didn’t you? I could feel it in you. What did you hear?”

 

His skin crawls at the thought of telling Ren, at sharing the sanctity of what must have been his mother’s voice. He stands, heading back to the bunk where he’s sure Ren has thrown his bag of things.

 

“ _Hux,_ ” says Ren, trailing after him. “This is what I was trying to tell you.”

 

Hux doesn’t answer, simply digs through his bag as though a coat or something else warm will have magically appeared.

 

“It’ll feel like too much,” continues Ren, “And then the anger will come back. Love is given away so easily, but we always hold on to anger. Even when everything else has been drained out of us.”

 

Hux’s eyes flick up to meet Ren’s. He bites his words around barely contained rage. “Fuck _off_ Ren.”

 

“Good,” says Ren, “You’re feeling something.” He leans against the wall of the bunk. “What are you looking for?”

 

“I’m _cold_. This kriffing ship is lacking in proper insulation.”

 

“Oh,” says Ren, and begins to remove his own coat. “Here,” he says, slinging it over Hux’s shoulders and pulling it tight in the front. Hux opens his mouth to complain, but it really is better. The coat is still warm with the heat of Ren’s body, and it smells of the sweet rolls from earlier and a musky scent that must be Ren himself.

 

“C’mon, you had fun tonight. Admit it," says Ren, looking anywhere but at Hux's face. “Sometimes you think I’m alright.”

 

“Occasionally.” He frowns when Ren grins slightly. “ _Very_ occasionally.” He considers. “I liked watching you lose at orbs.”

 

Ren huffs a breath. “Of course you did.” He’s still holding on to the front of Hux’s coat. “You always—” he begins, but Hux is spared hearing what he always does by the chime of Ren’s commlink. “Kriff,” mutters Ren, and retreats to the cockpit to answer it.

 

Hux sits on the edge of the tiny bunk, sagging back against the wall. He feels wrung out, and he lets his eyes close as he listens to the rumble of Ren’s voice, not quite able to discern the words. He pulls Ren’s coat tighter about him and tries not to think about where they’re headed next.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come check me out on [tumblr](https://orange-lightsaber.tumblr.com/tagged/my-art)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for drug use and (very slight) dubcon in this chapter

***

“What is this place?” asks Hux as soon as they’ve disembarked at their next location.

 

He hadn’t been able to sleep, not with the lingering hum of the caf in his veins, so he’d simply stared out the viewport, exhausted, watching as the stars streaked by. He scowls at Ren now and rubs the place on his chest where the harness had dug into it during landing. Ren catches the motion out of the corner of his eye and huffs. He of course blames the crash— _“It was just a rough landing!”_ —on a misaligned tractor beam sight. Judging by the general rust and squalor of the station around them, however, they were lucky they hadn’t been killed outright.

 

“It’s—well. An eco-station,” replies Ren cagily, stalking down the halls as though he’s been here before.

 

Hux raises his eyebrows. He’s been in plenty of eco-stations, inspecting their ration-producing capabilities for the Order, and this doesn’t look like any he’s ever seen. The light is nearly red-pink and the air humid, far more humid than would be needed for typical produce. He frowns as they stop before a large door. A steady thump-thump-thump beat nearly shakes the crumbling fame free of the wall. The pieces click together.

 

“Kriff, Ren, is this a drug farm?”

 

“No. Um. Maybe.”

 

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Why are we here?”

 

“Information.”

 

“What information?” prods Hux, not yet willing to be dragged along without protest.

 

Ren purses his lips. “A puzzle piece. That’s all.”

 

Hux opens his mouth to laugh at Ren’s obviously affected cryptic responses, but the screech of metal-on-metal stops him in his tracks. A rusted arm extends erratically from the door, the ball in the front splitting, mouth-like, to reveal a crystalline speaker within.

 

It grumbles something that sounds like it might be ‘ _passcode?_ , _’_ and Ren responds in a language that Hux doesn’t understand. The arm retracts swiftly, knocking haphazardly into its socket, and the door shakes open to reveal a mass of bodies, dancing tight against each other, squeezed in between glass-paneled walls. Where the scuffed and torn posters allow, the dirty glass shows glimpses of purple-red plants bathed by heat lamps, their oily leaves bisected with neon turquoise veins. Umberrout, the base form of a common hallucinogen.

 

The noise of the room is nearly overpowering, the violent beat of the music enough to shake the walls. Humans, xenos, and the like mingle freely, and the predominating species seems to be a long-eared, grey-furred type. The band up at the front comprises three, accompanied by a wookiee dominating two sets of snap-drums, his long arms moving in a quick, hypnotic rhythm.

 

Ren’s contact is younger than expected, or perhaps it’s just the look of her species. Her soft grey fur has been dyed in places, and shaved down in others to show black-ink marks against her skin. Luminous pink eyes meet Kylo’s as she arches a brow and tilts back the heavy headphones over her ears to shout at them through the overwhelming din of the room.

 

“C’mon,” she calls, slipping through the throngs of people like she was made for it. “There’s a corner here where we can talk.”

 

Ren follows more sedately, and the crowd seems to part for him. Dancing figures changing pace or angle at the last moment so as not to connect. Hux steps forward to follow as well, but Ren’s palm on his chest stops him.

 

“No. Stay here. I won’t be long.”

 

Hux frowns but does as he’s bid, waiting till Ren’s back is nearly out of sight before he winds his way through the mess himself, hoping to approach from a different angle and catch some of whatever it is that Ren feels is worth hiding.

 

Hux reaches the grimy, paint and poster-covered walls of the station before he feels someone grab his elbow. Instinct and training kick in as he whirls about, hand flying to a hip that no longer carries a blaster, and comes face to face with another of the grey-furred aliens, this one male.

 

“Easy there Red,” grins the man, showing off his empty hands and displaying a set of gold buck-teeth. “Line for the ‘fresher starts back there.”

 

“Oh. No. I’m not—” he begins, and the alien nods knowingly.

 

“Right, right, of course Red. Not looking for anything like _that_. Sure.” He tugs on one of the gold rings threaded through the edge of his huge, drooping ears. “If you change your mind though, tell ‘em Berlos sent you. That’ll get your dick sucked at a discount, I can promise you that. We got xenos, girls, boys, there’s even a guy with tentacles who can get his whole fist up your--”

 

Hux frowns. “Again, I’m not interested.” He begins to step away when he has a fleeting thought. “Stims, though. Do you know a place where I can get them?”

 

“ _Stims_.” Half of Berlos’ face cracks into a grin. “See I knew there was something I could do for you, Red. Cross the way there, fresher with a green X on the door.” His eyes flick down to Hux’s shirt. “Holy shit, fuck, _Lumi bars._ ” He laughs brashly before pushing Hux on his way.

 

Hux manages to nods his thanks and picks his way through the crowd, Ren forgotten. There’s no line at the other door, but a smallish Hutt stares him down as he enters. Hux squares his shoulders. Its not like he’s never done this before—back in his Academy days they lived on stims, keeping themselves up during the day so they could sneak out at night and have their fun.

 

“Oi, babs,” comes a voice once he’s pushed his way through the grimy door, “What can I do you for?”

 

“Stims,” answers Hux curtly. He curls his fingers into fists behind his back, nails biting skin. He doesn’t _need_ them, he reminds himself again. It’ll just be simpler to get away from Ren with the clarity and energy the stims provide. The caf pills have left him feeling halfway to himself again, one more push and he might be able to figure out what to do with this whole damned situation.

 

A man steps out of the shadows, flanked on one side by a reptilian woman whose outfit is more mesh netting than dress. He glances at his companion--“We got stims left, babs?”—who nods, before turning back to Hux.

 

“40 credits for 2 plungers.”

 

It’s highway robbery, but Hux isn’t in the mood to haggle. He fishes in his pocket for one of the credit chips he’d pulled from his uniform.

 

He looks up to find the man peering at him. “Ain’t I seen you before babs?”

 

“Unlikely,” replies Hux, clipping his words to make his imperial accent less noticeable. “Never been to this system before.” He doesn’t like the way the man is looking at him.

 

“Mm,” says the man, before turning back to his companion and saying something in a language that Hux doesn’t understand. She returns moments later with two plungers of stims, pressing them into Hux’s hands with a wink.

 

He hands over the credit chip with a nod—even after they take 40, he should still have some small money left, enough to catch a transport once he gets free of Ren.

 

He rolls the glass vials of the plungers beneath his fingertips. He could take one now, use it to plan, and still have the second for when he’s ready to run. The thought seeps intoxicatingly into his brain, which feels heavier than normal, knowing the stims are so close. _Fuck it_ , he thinks.

 

While they run his chip he strips the plasti-wrap from the first of the plungers and rolls back his sleeve. The relief is immediate, cool clarity running through his veins as his muscles begin to sing with energy. He breathes out with a sigh.

 

“Good shit, eh?” asks the man, his pock-marked face nearer than Hux would like.

 

“Been a while,” admits Hux, tongue uncharacteristically loose. “Mm. Fuck.”

 

The beat of the music pulses around him, almost physical against his skin. This feels different than usual. Less clear and more. More. Good. He shivers when his shoulder brushes the wall. Everything feels good. Hot. Soft. The blaring fluorescent lights above make halos around his companions. His mouth feels heavy. Shiny. As though it’s full of stars. After a minute he realizes that someone is touching him. The woman. Cool reptilian hands stroking down the length of his arm.

 

“You’re sure itss him?” she asks after a moment, sibilant ess hanging in the air. Hux giggles at the sound.

 

“His picture’s all over the holonet, babs. The traitor General,” says the man, taking Hux’s chin in his hand and tilting it back and forth in the light. “Both sides are offering an obscene amount for him.” Hux’s brain goes cold, the word _traitor_ cracking through the eggshell thin veneer of good feeling. Ren. This is all Ren’s fault.

 

He tries to jerk away but the motion sets the world to spinning. Words feel heavy in his throat as he tries to spit them free. “I’m not. Not a traitor. Ren. It’s Ren.” The word echoes obscenely in his mind _. Ren, Ren, Ren_. Over and over. Ren should be here. Ren should be here, he thinks and then snorts at the thought of it, that he should want Ren for anything.

 

“What’s a Ren?” asks the man in slow confusion.

 

Hux laughs even louder at that, as the bubbles in his head roll side to side in a way that seems to tickle his brain. “He’s going to kill you.”

 

The man releases his chin with disgust. “Kriff Masha, what did you give him?”

 

Masha shrugs sinuously. “Whatever elsse we had that was in a plunger. Sspice, I think.”

 

“Good,” nods the man, grabbing Hux by the shoulders and attempting to steer him toward the door. “That should keep him docile till we get him to the ship. Make the call won’t you, babs?”

 

“Nnno,” slurs Hux, twisting backwards out of his grip. “Got. Gotta wait.”

 

The man shoves him roughly, sending him sprawling against the wall. The awful thing about the spice is that it makes even this feel wonderful. He barely registers the swing of the man’s arm before the fist hits him. _Kriff_. It burns terrible and bright and sweet all at once, so good and so sharp that it nearly overwhelms him with sensation. He sighs into the second hit, toes curling as his stomach drops with some long-forgotten feeling.

 

“Enough, Edzss,” says Masha, pulling the man back by the shoulder. “They’ve got be able to recognissse him.”

 

“You think pretty boy can’t take a hit?” laughs the man, “Course not. Cunts like him always let others do the work for th--”

 

The smell of hot metal fills the air. The figures before him move at hyperspeed blurring at the edges, or so it seems to Hux, blinking in and out before his eyes in a swirl of red and green and glowing pink light. A scream splits through the heartbeat of the music and it sounds like it’s all around him, echoing off the tiled walls. Something thuds against the wall beside him and he has the fleeting feeling that it might be an arm, the thought is so funny to him that he can’t stop the laughter, rising up from his throat and nearly choking him unless he lets it out, which he does, collapsing against the wall in mirth until he can hardly breathe.

 

A shadow falls over him and he looks up to see Kylo, saber blazing and eyes wild. Twisting fingers of red light catch in his hair with each heaving breath and Hux is struck by the beauty of it. Strange and terribly and lovely at once.

 

“ _Hux_ ,” breathes Ren, in something like relief.

 

“Oh look its Ren,” he chirps, cheerful from his position on the floor.

 

“Idiot,” mutters Ren as he peers into one of Hux’s eyes, then the other. “What did they give you?”

 

“Mmspice,” murmurs Hux, tilting his head and nuzzling into Ren’s hand. “Good. I. feel. I feel good.”

 

“Come on,” says Kylo, hefting Hux up onto his feet with surprising ease. “We’ve got to get back to the ship before you get yourself into more trouble.”

 

“They. They sent a comm out,” says Hux, stumbling to get the words out.

 

“I know. I can feel them coming.”

 

Hux doesn’t know whether he means the Knights or the Resistance, but at this point, he supposes it doesn’t matter. They make their way without much trouble. No one seems to notice them as they walk, and the dancing crowd parts with the same ease as it had for Ren, limbs twisting and changing direction just before they might strike. The lights, already overpowering, are blinding through the haze of spice and Hux screws his eyes shut against the onslaught, trusting that Ren will get him back.

 

The arm beneath his own shifts and he thinks Ren might have pulled him a little closer. His nerves fizz pleasantly as he curls into Ren’s side. It’s soft. And it smells nice, sweet and a little smoky, like the ozone tang of blaster fire.

 

With his eyes closed everything is dark and vast. Each point where Ren’s body touches his blazes in the darkness, star-bright and blinding. Hands across his back, red and strong. Hair brushes his cheek. Gold bubbles burst across his tongue. Each step lights musical notes up through his spine and out through his ears until he can’t be sure what he’s feeling any more, only that its _good_. So good.

 

After a while he can tell that the music has faded and he opens his eyes. The door of their ship closes behind them—their ship? When did it become theirs?—and Ren steers him toward a seat before sinking into the pilot’s chair.

 

Hux watches, dazed, as Kylo punches in a series of coordinates from memory. He stretches out his arm to engage the autopilot and hisses softly before slumping back in his chair and rubbing at a wine-dark stain across his tunic. Blood? The thought fills Hux with worry, then strange delight, shiver-sweet up his spine, that Ren has been hurt for him. That Ren has hurt for him, maybe even killed for him. He nearly topples forward out of his chair, stumble-steps leading him to Ren’s lap as he straddles the Knight’s legs, relishing in the warm feel of a body beneath him.

 

Ren’s eyes go wide. “What—,” Hux rolls his hips and the knight’s words are drowned in a groan. “What are you doing?” he manages to gasp out.

 

He brushes his fingers across the stain, sticky-rough against the pads of his fingers. “They hurt you.” He says, part wonder and part fear.

 

“No, I—it’s not bad,” Ren reaches for the tie of his tunic, pulling it free to show Hux the broad expanse of his chest. Beneath the stain there is a slim cut across his ribs, shallow, but trailing blood in thin ribbons. “She got me with a vibroblade.”

 

Hux runs his fingers up Ren’s chest and the knight shudders. “You shouldn’t—” he begins.

 

“ _You_ ,” says Hux, cupping his hand under Ren’s chin, pressing his thumb softly against his lips before dragging downward, showing teeth. Ren’s tongue flits, unconsciously, to swipe against Hux’s thumb and the feel of it, hot and soft and wet, makes his hips jerk forward, grinding his stiffening cock against Ren’s belly. “ _Fuck_.” He pants, skin fizzing with every contact. “Fuck that feels good.”

 

Ren’s hands curl around his hips, thumbs pressing hard against the jut of his hipbones. It’s exquisitely tight and he feels he might burst out of his body, float free from the pressure.

 

“Hux.”

 

He hears his name come from far away. Ren’s mouth moves again and he giggles, watching it form the shapes. He wants to feel those shapes against his skin, and so he presses his palm against Ren’s mouth. Shivering as the Knight speaks once more.

 

“Hux, you’re high.”

 

“Mm,” he agrees, “Yes. And it feels good. Doesn’t it?” He laughs and rolls his hips again, delighting in sharp hiss of breath Ren lets out. “Is this what you wanted Ren? Is. This. Is this why you took me with you?” He looks down at Ren who stares back with eyes half-lidded, hair disheveled, chest heaving beneath Hux’s hands. That _chest_. Fuck.

 

“ _Kriff_ , Ren. Look at your _tits_ ,” he groans, squeezing his hands along the outer edges of Ren’s pectorals. Ren shifts under him, flush-red with embarrassment but arching his spine back to push further into Hux’s hands. “Fuck. Someone could fuck these, couldn’t they, Ren? And you—you’d love it—letting them rub their cock all over you.”

 

Ren shudders at the words, squirming as Hux continues to drive his hips forward. Everything feels so good. Hot and soft and heavy and Hux feels like he’s swimming with each movement, as though the air has weight and it could catch him if he just let himself fall back into its embrace.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” moans Ren as Hux thumbs at his nipples, “Fuck. Fuck. Hux you have to stop—you’re not. Not _here_ right now.”

 

Hux merely grins, eyes half unfocused as he leans forward to lick a stripe along the edge of Kylo’s jaw. “Where. Where else would I be?” he mumbles, rubbing his nose into the rough stubbled texture. “You showed me your cock,” he half-accuses, shifting his ass against Ren’s lap. “Don’t you want to fuck me?”

 

Ren blows out a breath, setting the curls about his face fluttering, sweet and soft and Hux is struck with the sudden urge to bite him.

 

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

 

Hux rears back at that, determined to protest, but the movement sends the room spinning and his stomach roils unexpectedly. He squeezes his eyes shut against the feeling.

 

“Hey,” says Ren gently, after a minute has gone by, “Hux are you alright?”

 

He shakes his head. A mistake. His stomach rebels violently, and he lurches forward in Ren’s arms.

 

“Gon’ throw up,” mumbles Hux, burying his face in Kylo’s hair.

 

Some time passes and he can hear Ren blow out a breath. The soft circles Ren’s been rubbing into his hipbones stop as the Knight shifts his grip so he can stand without Hux toppling off of him. “Ohh kay,” sighs Ren. “Let’s get you to the ‘fresher.”

 

“Mmno,” mumbles Hux into his shoulder. “Don’t go. It’s heavy, Ren. _Kylo_.” He convulses in Ren’s arms, retching drily where his head hangs over Kylo’s back. “Doesn’t feel good.”

 

Kylo sighs again, rubbing his hand across Hux’s back. “I know, I know. I’m not going anywhere. Get it out.”

 

Soon he finds himself gripping the icy durasteel lip of the toilet, forehead resting against his hands. Through the haze it becomes clear that Ren is speaking, has been for some time perhaps, sitting beside Hux on the floor and leaning his head back against the dirty panels of the ship. He toys with one of the rivets as he speaks.

 

"—my father kept trying to stop me and I distinctly remember her telling him, 'No, let him eat them all. That'll teach him a better lesson than we ever could.' Kriff, I was sick for a full day. I don't think I've ever eaten another carmelaze." His voice is sad, "They were trying, you know. They weren't very good at it but they were trying."

 

Hux retches violently, hot acid burning his throat and bringing tears to his eyes. Ren reaches out to brush back his hair and his hand feels like cool relief. "I imagine you were an awful child," he croaks.

 

"I was," says Ren, with a small grin.

 

Hux nods dizzily. "Tell me," he breaks off with a dry heave, "how terrible you were." He must be feverish at this point. There's no reason for him to care about Ren's less than stellar upbringing as literal royalty--but the rumble of his voice is soothing in the quiet void of the ship.

 

"She tried to take care of me after—once she'd let me make myself sick. She made soup. Well, she tried to make soup." He chuckles softly, "No one had ever taught her. She and my fath— _him_ , both, they'd burn water.” He shakes his head. " I hated that. We could never just be normal, you know?"

 

"My ma," says Hux, draping himself over the toilet, "She was a good cook, great cook," he addresses the water in the bowl, which is somehow easier than speaking to Ren himself. "Couldn't see her. Couldn't ever go see her—but if, if I was sick she could come to my room. Bring me soup. Her Tash." He hiccups, "Wasn't allowed to call her my mother—” He swallows roughly.

 

"She'd hate this. Seeing me like this—she," he squeezes his eyes shut as the world spins, "She didn't want me to go. But I had to. I had to. And now he's gone. I'm gone."

 

Ren pets his back softly and for a while there is nothing in the world but the cold steel edge beneath him and the soft warmth of Ren’s hand on his back. He thinks he must have fallen asleep then, because the next thing he knows is the thin mattress of the bunk beneath him and the knitted weight of a blanket being draped up over his body.

 

He catches Ren’s hand as it reaches his shoulder, tucking it against his chest. “Stay?” he asks, mumbling the request into the pillow, half-delirious but still aware enough to be embarrassed. “Please?”

 

“Oh,” says Ren, letting himself be pulled down to sit at the edge of the bunk. Hux curls his body around the Knight’s, drinking in the warmth of him, and buries his face into Kylo’s hip. “Tash,” murmurs Kylo, brushing his hand softly through Hux’s hair. Hux sleeps.

***


	4. Chapter 4

***

Hux wakes several hours later with the memory of Ren’s warmth beside him, but when he reaches out to touch the mattress he finds it cold. He scrubs his hands over his face. _Kriff_. He doesn’t want to face Ren after—after whatever _that_ was.

 

He blows out a breath and stumbles over to the tiny ‘fresher. _Blast_. He looks terrible, red-eyed and grubby, with a purple-green bruise blooming high on his cheek. He cranks the knob on the rusted sink and is rewarded with a gurgle of water, which he splashes gingerly over his face. _That all could have gone better_ , he thinks, before his stomach rebels and he vomits into the sink.

 

He pants heavily, rinsing his mouth out, and manages to feel slightly better. His fingers tremble where they grip the edge of the sink. Is this withdrawal? He wonders as he feels glitter in his mouth. Probably just coming down off the spice. Fuck, the spice. His body shivers instinctively at the memory of Ren's skin against his. He can't remember the last time he'd felt so good. He shoves himself away from the sink.

 

He hears the Knight bustling about in the cockpit and suddenly realizes what's been bothering him. No engine noise. They're docked somewhere. He reaches over and shoves open the cover of the tiny viewport and is nearly blinded by the gold-orange of a sunset. Ah. On-planet then.

 

He squares his shoulders and makes his way to the cockpit. He expects mockery, or at the least a biting remark as he slinks into the room, but to his surprise Ren says nothing. Instead he flushes red, the tips of his ears burning through the curtain of his hair. His eyes flick to Hux and then down again as he glowers at the bowl in his hands. Some sort of rehydrated oat paste, the smell of which turns Hux's stomach.

 

"Ah. You're alive," says Ren, deadpan. He makes a vague gesture with his spoon at another bowl of mush, which Hux ignores.

 

"Am I?" rasps Hux, collapsing into the co-pilot's chair. "I don't feel it." The leather of the chair is cool against his fingertips. He rubs at his bruise again. He glances out the window, if only because he can feel Ren's stare on him. "Where are we?"

 

"Does it matter?" asks Ren, clattering his spoon against the bottom of his bowl. He peers intently at Hux for several seconds before standing, dropping his bowl on his seat, and exiting the ship, gesturing for Hux to follow.

 

Hux waits for a moment or two, simply to remind Ren that he's not at his beck and call, before curiosity gets the better of him and he stalks out of the landing bay. He catches up to Ren at a large wooden door, but the Knight hunches his shoulders away.

 

"You're _angry_ with me." The realization surprises him.

 

"You could have gotten yourself _killed_."

 

“I didn’t think you ca—,” he begins, but is distracted by the realization of where they are. “Naboo. We’re on Naboo.”

 

Ren just shoves his hand on the access pad.

 

“Don’t—” says Hux, but stops when no alarm sounds. “Snoke didn’t revoke your biometrics.” Not that he should care, of course. If the Order is alerted to their presence it only means his rescue will come that much sooner.

 

Ren only frowns at him. “He has no control here.”

 

Hux resists the urge to roll his eyes as they step into the marble foyer. “The First Order has access to all of the Emperor’s old properties. I gave the Supreme Leader the codes myself.”

 

“This isn’t Palpatine’s house,” says Ren curtly, and explains no further. Hux follows wordlessly as Ren leads him into an expansive living room, one that branches out into a large courtyard overlooking a lakeshore. Everything is white marble and thin, gauzy curtains, spa-like and beautiful. He can hear the sound of the lake, a gentle lap broken by the sound of Ren dropping his things unceremoniously onto the floor.

 

The Knight sprawls back onto one of the sofas, out of place like a black-clad blight on the room. Unaware or uncaring of Hux’s gaze, he floats a fruit toward himself from an attendant bowl and takes a large bite of it, spilling juice down his chin in red rivulets. Hux holds back a comment as Ren wipes the back of his hand across his mouth.

 

He thinks Ren must enjoy it, acting like a savage. He was raised by royalty, after all, and Hux has seen him behave when ordered. But left to his own devices he seems content to act more beast than man. The thought sends a strange shiver up Hux’s spine.

 

“Make yourself at home,” says Ren with a second bite of fruit. “We’re here for a few days.”

 

Hux walks toward the windows and looks out onto the lake. It’s beautiful, the fading red-pink blush of the sunset bleeding out across the sky. The sight makes his chest hurt. He can’t remember when he last spent a night on-planet. Was it Arkanis? Could it have been as long ago as that? He swallows hard and presses a hand up against the glass, blocking the sight and smudging the pane with his fingers. “Why here?” asks Hux.

 

Ren shrugs. “You need a place to recover.”

 

“I’m recovered,” he lies, ignoring the twisted feeling in his gut.

 

“Then consider it a vacation,” sneers Ren. He moves about the room in an agitated manner but Hux pays him no heed, still staring out at the lake. There are people there, far off. Skimmers bobbing along in the tide, lanterns hung on prows as they glide home in the settling darkness. He tries to imagine Ren among them, a child laughing happily alongside his parents, but the image won’t congeal.

 

“You never really fit, did you?” says Hux, entranced by the movement of the skimmers, small golden stars sprinkled in the ink-black water.

 

“Fit where?”

 

“Anywhere they put you.”

 

And then Ren is beside him, echoed over Hux’s shoulder in the transparisteel. The little lights of the boats fill his reflection, as though he’s swallowed them and let them burn within his belly. There is a long moment in which Hux can see him as he must have been, young and brash and too big and too much and at the same time never enough, and then Ren’s mouth moves, and the image is shattered.

 

“No.” He turns away, “I didn’t.” he says, striding toward the vaulted doorway. “I’m going to bed.”

 

Hux follows, after a moment. After the last of the skimmers has drifted from his view. Ren has already disappeared by the time he reaches the second floor, the only clue to his whereabouts the sound of a door shutting from down the hallway. The room to the left of the staircase is open, and Hux presumes this is the room meant for him so he enters, taking in the sight of a huge four-poster bed with gauzy curtains.

 

The door slides shut behind him, but the lock doesn’t engage. It seems Ren has other means of keeping him here, or perhaps he is arrogant enough to think that plying Hux with luxury will be enough to distract him from escape.

 

There are several windows, and a small balcony, all unlocked. The sound outside tells him that they overlook the lake and will likely be charming in the daylight. His lip curls. A door in the sidewall leads to a fresher unit outfitted in the same cold white marble. He doesn’t bother to check the cabinets for stims, knowing that Ren will have had any that existed removed and finding that the very thought of them sets his stomach churning unpleasantly. When he returns to the bedroom he notices a small tube of bacta sitting on the coverlet. _Ah_. He smears some on his eye before letting himself collapse onto the bed.

 

He has trouble falling asleep, and when he finally does he sleeps fitfully—waking, shaking and feverish, mouth dry, every few hours. His dreams are plagued with visions half-invented and half-remembered. Once, he wakes with the fleeting thought that Ren has been standing over him, examining him like some creature under glass, stuck through with pins. Another time he feels the bite of a stim plunger in his arm and nearly screams aloud, thrashing himself awake until he sits up, panting, in the near dark of the room.

 

He lays there, contemplating the ceiling, until the first touch of dawn resigns him to the thought that further sleep will not be forthcoming. He sighs and stands. There’s a tray of food beside the door, presumably left there by some droid. He makes a cursory examination of the offering and helps himself to a pastry.

 

The staircase he’d come up the previous night continues downward past the first floor and so he follows it, tracing his fingers along the bannister as he goes. The rooms below are dark, and yet enough morning light filters in for him to find his way. He can hear running water, and lets the sound guide him as he goes.

 

Eventually the passage opens up into a large room, at the center of which stands a series of pools, hewn from the natural stone. There’s a shaft upwards that lets in the morning light, bathing the blue-white tiled walls in pink and yellow. Several balconies ring the skylight, presumably once for people but now filled only with a myriad of plants—exotic species whose tendrils drip down the walls to dip their leaves into the water of the pools. Steam rises in swirls from the surface, carrying the scent of the flowers, and, as he steps closer, Hux can feel the effect on his muscles, relaxing the stiffness in his neck, easing the raw ache in his throat.

 

He hardly hesitates before shucking his clothing, and stepping, bare and pink, into the embrace of the water. His eyes flutter shut as it buoys him, the heat burning away the dull pain which until now has clung to him like a second skin. He breathes for, it feels like, the first time in a few days, sinking down until his chin rests against the water. Time slips away from him.

 

“Oh--”

 

A hitch of breath breaks through the silence and Hux’s eyes fly open to see Ren, sweaty with exertion and dressed only in loose exercise clothing, standing before him. He flushes, flexes his legs unconsciously and wonders if Ren can tell he’s naked.

 

“I thought you’d be asleep,” he mutters sheepishly, sinking down deeper into the water.

 

Ren grunts and begins untying the tunic at his waist, exposing the taut plane of his stomach. A bead of sweat makes its way down Ren’s chest and Hux forces his eyes to look anywhere else as the embarrassing memory of the previous night floods over him. The plants above him become very interesting as he hears Ren’s foot dip into the water, the low rumble of a moan as the knight sinks into the steam and heat.

 

“I don’t sleep well on planet,” says Ren after a moment. “I never have. Too much light. My fa—someone used to tell me it was because I was born on-ship.”

 

Hux crinkles his nose. “Nonsense folklore.”

 

A small grin cracks at the corner of Ren’s mouth. He stretches his arms out in front of him, laying them flat along the surface of the water, and begins his shoulder exercises. The sinuous mass of his body is distracting, even partially hidden beneath the water, and its all Hux can do to turn his thoughts away from the feeling of Ren’s thighs beneath him, the feeling of the chest under his hands.

 

“I don’t sleep well either,” he says suddenly, for want of anything better to say, and out of a sudden need to say something, lest Ren think him captivated. “It’s the quiet. No engine hum.”

 

Ren nods absently as he pulls his arm first one way and then the next. The dreamy, steam filled atmosphere seems to coalesce around them as Hux trails his fingers through the water. Enjoying the heat of it against his skin.

 

Eventually Ren finishes his ministrations and lets himself relax into the water. There is silence between them for a moment, with nothing to break it but the susurrus of birds and the gentle drip of water. Hux lets his head tilt back, observing the sliver of sky where he can see it through the leaves. He can feel Ren’s eyes on him.

 

“So we’re just not going to talk about it then?” says Ren, once the moment has stretched thin.

 

“That’s correct.”

 

“You kissed me.” The statement is accusatory.

 

“You _just_ agreed not to talk about it.”

 

Ren crosses his arms, breaking the surface of the water with a splash. “Why did you do it?”

 

Hux rubs a wet hand against his brow. “Why did I—I don’t know, Ren.” He sighs. “Maybe it was the fact that I was blissed out on spice, or the relief at knowing I wasn’t going to be sold off by bounty hunters, maybe it was the stim withdrawal. Who can tell?”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“So you don’t. I thought maybe you wanted. That.”

 

“ _That_.”

 

“Sex.” Ren’s eyes flick up to meet his, then back down to the surface of the water. “Kissing.” His face goes taut, the muscles in his jaw straining as he bites out the words. “Who can tell?”

 

Hux can feel the laughter bubbling up in him but there’s nothing he can do to stop it. “Oh, _Ren_. This is another one of those forbidden things, isn’t it?”

 

“No.”

 

“Was it me in particular or did I just happen to be there?”

 

“ _No_ ,” says Ren again, eyes flashing. He slaps the surface of the water and the plants around them shake, raining pieces of soil pitter-patter onto the tiles.

 

Hux toys with the leaves of a vine that’s dipped low enough to touch the water. “There’s no shame in it, you know. You’re hardly the first awkward virgin I’ve—”

 

“ _That’s enough_ ,” bites Ren, and Hux is glad for the interruption, because he’s not sure how the sentence was going to end—met? Worked with? Deflowered?

 

Kylo snarls in frustration and turns, stomping out of the pool and giving Hux an excellent view of his ass as he does so. He grabs one of the nearby towels and slings it around his waist before turning back to Hux. “You just can’t _stand_ to let anyone near you, can you?”

 

Hux screws up his brow, but before he can answer Ren is already striding away.

 

“Dinner. Tonight,” Ren calls over his shoulder, back to his usual brusque self. “There are clothes in your room. Entertain yourself until then.”

 

***

Loath to obey Ren, Hux takes his time in the pools, dozing and swimming until he feels refreshed. When he finally deems himself finished, rather than return to his rooms he decides to explore. Perhaps there is something here that will make sense of Ren’s madness.

 

The doors along the ill-lit hallways are mostly closed, but as he goes along he sees one or two ajar. With no one to guide him, he pushes the first door open, finding himself in a sort of sitting room. A huge library of books covers the expanse of one wall. Actual flimsi _books_. He’s oddly charmed. He hears a whirr from the corner of the room and startles, but it’s only a droid. A little run-down thing that seems to be arranging and rearranging the same small pile of books over and over, occasionally rocking sideways against the wall. Must be malfunctioning, he thinks to himself, and wonders how long its been since anyone ran a diagnostic on it. _Kriff_ , since anyone had even been here to see it. He backs quietly out of the room.

 

Orbs set in the walls illuminate with a golden glow as he passes by, dimming slowly again into darkness after several seconds of stillness. He treads softly over the plush carpet runners, which swallow his footsteps. Far and away he can hear the bustle of droids in the adjoining rooms. A soft, ever-present whirr he associates with his childhood. He feels thin and insubstantial in this house, and he wonders why it is that Ren has brought them here.

 

He stops beside the next room, the door to which is firmly shut, because he can hear Ren’s voice within. He waits a moment to see whether he can make out the words but the attempt is futile. The only information he can gather is that Ren is talking to someone, likely a woman if their voice is any indication. The thought sends an odd spike into his veins. He curls his lip and moves on.

 

The hallway vaults higher and grander at the end, opening into some sort of picture gallery. He walks through the gilded portraits, looking for some semblance of Ren among the faces, but finds none. These must be his relatives, after all, but, as he picks his way through the elaborate hairstyles and dainty features of the Nabooian lords and ladies he struggles to imagine Ren among them, painted up like some fussy lordling. _Ah_. He stops in front of the portrait of a girl. She’s young, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, but there is a fire in her dark eyes that burns out through the paint and the posture and the ridiculous cultural garb and somewhere in that fire is Ren.

 

To the side of the painting is a pair of busts. The first is of the same girl, now a woman, the fire in her eyes tempered with sadness. The second was once the bust of a man, but appears to have been shoved bodily from its plinth, leaving nothing but shattered marblene pieces.

 

He crouches down beside the ruin. The air around him feels thick as he does so, heavy, like the sky before a storm. He reaches out and flips over one of the larger pieces. An eye stares back at him, a thin scar tracing through the brow and down across the cheekbone. He sees Ren in this face as well, and for some reason the realization makes his stomach clench.

 

He reaches out to brush a finger against the stone and the feeling of pressure increases, almost finger-like against his wrist, stopping him. _Ren?_ He asks, casting the word out with his mind, but there is no response. Nothing but the heavy weight of sadness in the air and a smell like funeral flowers against his tongue.

 

He shakes his head. _Kriff._ He should return to his rooms. He certainly shouldn’t be skulking around the hallways, poking into Ren’s business. Who knows what mad mystic secrets Ren’s family kept about the place. It takes him a while to retrace his steps, but eventually he finds a door he recognizes. Relieved, he retreats to his room and collapses soundly onto the bed. Now, to while away the hours.

 

He soon finds that he’s exhausted every entertainment in his rooms. The flimsies lining the selves are all archaic accounts of Nabooian history, and his attempts to connect to the holonet are met with a message telling him that his service has been disconnected. Even his attempts to jerk off end in disappointment as every fantasy partner he concocts somehow twists itself a semblance of Ren. He showers again, for lack of anything else to do, sorting through the frankly absurd number of bath products and trying each one with methodical efficiency.

 

A chime goes off within the house, airy and musical. Ah. A dressing gong. How civilized.

 

Afterward, still damp, he examines the wardrobe. There’s a fair amount of what he presumes to be Nabooian garb—delicate embroideries and high collars that look as though they could easily choke a man. There’s almost nothing he recognizes. Certainly none of the heavy cloths and hunting cuts he would have expected from a guest house on Arkanis. Everything here is whisper-thin and draped, and, as he holds a sleeveless tunic up against his body, apparently made for warm weather.

 

A hint of lace catches his eye and he tugs it forward, face flushing when he pulls the hanger free. It’s some kind of undergarment: a pair of lacy panties and a bralette, in a soft green color. Heat pools in his groin. Was he meant to wear this? Had Ren picked these out? _Fuck. That_ thought certainly grabs the attention of his cock. He quickly shoves the hanger back into the closet. Ren couldn’t have picked them, anyway, he hadn’t known they were coming here. Perhaps such things were simply customary on this stupid, frivolous planet. Hux pulls something else free at random and holds it up against his body. It seems like it will fit.

His thoughts flick back to the lace. How it would feel against his skin. How Ren's face would look when he saw it.  _Kriff, Hux,_ he shakes his head at himself as he tugs the shirt over his head, a soft tunic that’s tight against his waist but somehow too big at the neck in a way that drapes off his shoulders. It couldn’t be like that with Ren, anyway. It was _Ren._ Terrible, brash, impulsive Ren. _Abductor_ Ren. The one who’d taken him away from his command. Still, he considers, as he finishes dressing—loose grey pants, with bindings that tie at the ankle—at least he hadn’t let Hux be sold off by those bounty hunters.

 

The dinner chime rings and he flinches instinctively. Something inside him snarls with his father’s voice; _l_ _ate boys don’t eat, late boys wait in their rooms,_ but he pushes the thought away and deliberately slows his pace. Let Ren wait on him. And anyway, he’s beginning to suspect that Ren would deny him nothing, except, perhaps, his freedom.

 

He toes at the crumpled Lumi Bar shirt on the ground and, after some hesitation, picks it up and folds it. Smoothing his fingers over the stupid fish as he sets it on the bed.

 

***

 

The dining room is a huge expanse of marble pillars, open to the outside, with thin chiffon curtains blowing softly in the night breeze. Stars glimmer, reflected in the glassy surface of the lake. A long white table studded with candles and fogged glass dishes stretches before him. Ren is absent, but two place settings wait, expectant, at the far end of the room.

 

The light has all but faded, drenching the room in purple-blue shadows. Hux admires the view as he pads barefoot across the cold tiles. While the wardrobe had been generously stocked, the selection of footwear had been unfortunately limited. The feeling of the cold marble underfoot makes him feel like a child again, and he curls his toes against it, relishing in the glassy feel. He remembers chasing droids with his cat along the polished floors of his father’s house, the heat of summer days still lingering in the stones.

 

The door at the far end of the room opens and he turns to see a droid roll in, struggling under the weight of a tray made heavy with breads, cheeses, and greens. To his surprise, Ren follows behind, a silver tureen of soup between his hands. Has he been cooking?

 

“Oh,” says Ren when he looks up. A half-grin curls around the edges of his mouth. “You found the wardrobe. You look nice.”

 

“I feel ridiculous,” says Hux, resisting the urge to run a hand through his hair.

 

That startles a genuine grin from Ren. It suits him, crinkling the edges of his eyes in a way that Hux doesn’t like to think about. Ren, of course, looks utterly at ease, comfortable in a sweater looking so soft as to be nearly liquid, leggings slung low about his hips.

 

“Hungry?” he asks, nodding to an empty seat. He seems to have forgotten their argument of this morning, or, more likely, is waiting for Hux to relax his guard before he’ll strike once more.

 

Hux makes a noise of assent and sits, watching with trepidation as the droid struggles to raise the food to the level of the table. Eventually, Ren takes pity on the thing and pulls the tray from its grip. The little droid beeps gratefully and wobbles its way back into the kitchen, trundling back in moments later, with what seems to be a bottle of champagne.

 

Ren takes the bottle as well, popping the cork and pouring them both a generous measure before ladling soup into a bowl for each of them. He places one in front of Hux and sits down before his own, looking over at Hux expectantly.

 

The broth is clear and salty, tangy with the taste of the ocean. At the bottom there is a tangle of clear glass noodles, near invisible under the vibrant slick of chili oil floating on top. The whole thing is wonderfully, achingly familiar.

 

He frowns over at Ren. "Where did you get this recipe?"

 

"I found it," answers the knight, eyes flicking away guiltily. Of course. He'd taken it from Hux's mind. Waited until he was high and vulnerable and just sorted through his thoughts and emotions like so many datacards. Plucking out whichever he so chose. Easy.

 

"You _took_ it," Hux accuses, shoving himself back from the table.

 

"I just thought," says Ren, looking pained now. "You were sick. And you said your mother would make—I thought it would help" his brow furrows and he tilts his head this way and that, like a hound who doesn't understand what it's done wrong. " _Tash_ ," he tries again.

 

"Oh fuck you," spits Hux, "Don't you  _dare_ use that name." 

 

Ren growls and tangles his hands in his hair. "Fuck. I don't  _understand_  you. One minute you're throwing yourself at me and now I can't even _talk_  to you."

 

" _Throwing_ myself at you?" snarls Hux, near spitting with ferocity. " _Maybe_ if you hadn't _kidnapped_ me we could be having a civil conversation." He grabs his fork and hurls it at Ren, who dodges easily, the utensil arcing over his head to skitter away along the floor. “Why bother with any of this? Why don't you just  _make_  me do what you want?" he continues, two spots of color high on his cheeks. "Wave your hands and dance me around like a puppet—you might as well, right? Isn't that what Snoke has in store for me? At least according to  _you—_ ”

 

"Kriff," roars Ren in return, "Do you ever  _stop_?"  He grits his teeth. "Do you get off on believing that everyone is out to get you? Is it so hard to imagine that I just wanted to do something  _nice for you_?"

 

" _Nice for me_? Digging through my mind is  _nice for me_?" he upends his bowl, sending it clattering to the floor. "Those memories are  _mine_ , Ren. They're all I have left of her—that name is all I have left of her."

 

"You don't even know what you want, do you?"

 

“What is _that_ supposed to mean? I want you to leave me the fuck alone and stop—stop trying to, to take _care_ of me and make me  _feel_  things, alright?" He grabs his glass and takes a swig of champagne, the contents of which blaze in his eyes as he continues to punctuate his words by hurling flatware and curses in equal measure.

 

"Do you know how  _impossible_ you are?" growls Ren, stepping closer as he dodges a hastily thrown spoon. "I'm trying to  _help_  you."

 

" _Help_ me?" laughs Hux. "Why. The fuck. Would you want to  _help me_?"

 

Their faces are inches apart now, and Hux raises his empty glass with every intent to smash it against the broad expanse that is Ren, but before he can the Knight cups his face between both hands and crashes their lips together.

 

It's hot and slick and soft all at once. Ren is clumsy with inexperience, but it doesn’t seem to matter. His thumbs trace along the sharp ridges of Hux’s cheekbones.

 

"Oh," is all Hux can find to say.

 

"Oh," breathes Ren with a lopsided grin, and then, belatedly "You threw your soup."

 

But Hux is already reaching out to pull Ren back against the heat of his lips.

 

“Are you—“ begins Ren, red-flushed panting, when they finally break apart.

 

“Stop _talking_ ,” snarls Hux, tugging Kylo’s hair back so he can lick up the column of his throat. He can feel Ren’s growl pressed against his lips.

 

“You get off on ordering people around.”

 

He pulls tighter on Ren’s hair. “You get off on disobeying.”

 

Ren drops to his knees, pushing Hux back up against the table as he mouths at the join where his thigh meets his groin. “I might,” he agrees, thumbing at Hux’s waistband. Hux shudders into his grip, feeling suddenly bisected into discrete points; cold marble at his feet, hot breath against his belly, fingers scrabbling against the surface of the table and failing to find purchase.

 

He can feel Ren’s grin against his skin as he toys with the edge of Hux’s trousers, fingers moving in soft circles against his hipbones. The movement coaxes a small whine from the back of Hux’s throat as he goes hot and cold at once in anticipation. Ren tugs Hux’s pants down over his hips, freeing him to the air. The knight grips the tops of Hux’s thighs as his tongue flicks out the catch the bitter bead of precome that pearls at the tip of his cock.

 

“ _Oh_ ,” says Hux, at the slick feel of Ren’s tongue against his skin. Wet and hot. Kriff. He’d forgotten how good it felt. Ren hums as he takes the head of Hux’s cock into his mouth and sucks firmly until Hux bucks forward with a groan.

 

“Mm,” hums Ren in response, sliding his mouth eagerly down Hux’s length. His lips reach the base and he gags sharply, tears springing to the corners of his eyes as he pulls off with a heavy breath. “Fuck,” he says, wiping spit from the corners of his mouth before immediately trying again.

 

“Take it slow,” sneers Hux elegantly. “This isn’t whatever holoporn orgy you’re used to watching.”

 

“Fuck you,” growls Ren as he pulls off, rubbing his wet lips across the head of Hux’s cock.

 

“That’s the idea,” groans Hux, tangling his fingers into Ren’s hair as he guides him back down his cock, fucking shallowly into this mouth.

 

Ren’s hand drops from Hux’s thigh to his own cock. His hips flex, humping up against his hand through the fabric of his leggings. His other hand slides up under the thin material of Hux’s shirt, thumbing at Hux’s nipples. He pulls away with a filthy sound. “Kriff,” says Ren, “I can’t believe that’s what you wore.”

 

“ _You_ put it in the wardrobe,” gasps Hux, trying and failing to hide the hitch in his voice as Kylo sucks a bruise into his skin.

 

“It’s meant to go over a tunic,” says Ren, sliding his fingers up until they curl at the base of Hux’s throat. “You look like some prissy lordling, whoring himself out for his lord’s favor.”

 

The word startles a moan out of Hux. “Ah. _Hah_. Fuck.” His hips twitch forward, dragging the spit-slick head of his cock against Ren’s cheek. “I hope, _ah_ ,” he breathes as Ren sucks sloppily at his length. “ _Fuck_. I hope you have something to fuck me with.”

 

Ren pulls a packet of lubricant out of his pocket and tosses it on the table, but not before slicking up his hand and shoving it down the front of his leggings. Hux huffs a breath at him before coating his own fingers. He’s still pinned between the table and Ren, but he manages to get his hand behind him, dragging slippery fingers against his rim, working himself open with one finger and then, after a moment, the next.

 

Ren watches with a look of utter focus on his face, brow furrowed and mouth hanging open. He pulls his leggings down, tucking the waistband under his balls as his cock springs free, flush-red and shiny with slick. He curls forward to grasp Hux’s waist between his hands, fingers nearly spanning the plane of his stomach. His hands are still covered in lube and Hux makes a face at him as it smears into his skin. Their cocks drag lightly against one another as Hux fucks back onto his hand, and Ren shudders. Eventually the teasing is too much for him and Ren grips their cocks in one hand, hot flesh sliding together as he pumps up and down slowly.

 

Hux throws his head back as Ren thumbs at his slit until he’s leaking, dribbling precome down over Ren’s cock. Ren’s hands are rough, grip almost painfully tight, and Hux’s vision goes white-hot around the edges as he feels the steady build of pleasure in his belly.

 

“Fuck,” breathes Ren, and when Hux opens his eyes he sees that Ren’s are fixed on his face, lip trapped between his teeth. “Fuck you’re pretty.”

 

Hux breathes out sharply, flush rising to his already heated cheeks because how exactly is he supposed to react to that? But thankfully he’s spared a response as Ren manhandles him around to facing the table, hands splayed out across the top. Ren's weight is heavy against his back as the tip of the knight's cock nudges against his hole. Hux lets out a choked whine. Fuck that's good.

 

“Stop me. Stop me if it hurts,” says Ren, canting his hips forward to press harder.

 

Hux’s hands scrabble for purchase as Ren begins to breech him slowly. Fuck he’s big, kriff. Hux can't remember if he's ever taken any one so large. Certainly not in recent years. He looks sidelong at the crumpled packet of lube, which sports a garish neon label he recognizes. “Kriff,” he pants, glaring over his shoulder at Ren, whose tongue is trapped between his teeth in concentration. “You stole that from the motel, didn't you? Were you. Were you thinking of me while you were fucking your hand, Ren?”

 

Ren lets out a guttural moan as Hux clenches around the head of his cock.

 

“Answer me,” demands Hux, grabbing Ren’s hair and tugging him forward until their lips just barely brush together.

 

“Fuck. Kriff. _Yes_ ,” moans Ren, “I wanted to drag you out of that ‘fresher unit.”

 

Hux groans in response, easing himself back onto Ren’s cock. He feels nearly rent in two, and the burn of it, the stretch, is near ecstasy. “The spoils of war, isn’t it,” he says, “Fucking your prisoner.”

 

Ren jerks his hips forward at those words, seating himself fully within the clutch of Hux’s body. He comes immediately, with a small "oh" of surprise shaped on his lips, but the little scrunched up face he makes is almost enough to make Hux forgive him, at least until he pulls free brusquely and Hux hisses aloud, shivering as Ren’s come traces rivulets down his thighs.

 

“If you don’t put your virgin fingers in my ass this second Ren—,” snarls Hux, nearly shaking at the feeling of emptiness after having been so deliriously full.

 

“Stop talking,” rumbles Ren. He shoves Hux’s chest against the table, hand spanning his upper back, and proceeds to bury his face between Hux’s cheeks, tonguing at Hux’s hole and lapping at his own come until Hux shudders beneath him, letting out soft little whimpers that would embarrass him if it didn’t feel so damn good.

 

"Fuck, Ren, fuck, that's  _filthy_ , hah--" moans Hux and Ren shoves his tongue deeper. Hux nearly shouts, toes curling against the cold marble. “Fuck. Ren. Harder. Harder, please,” he gasps, anger forgotten as he feels his orgasm rear its head in the pit of his belly. “ _So close so close—_ ”

 

“That’s it,” slurs Ren, sloppy against his ass, and reaches around to pump roughly at Hux's cock. “Come for me.”

 

Hux tenses, whole body taut, prey caught in the grasp of a predator, and comes with a choked moan, spilling himself against the tabletop. Ren collapses against his back, pressing a sweaty kiss into the side of his neck. 

 

“Get off me,” says Hux, muffled by the weight of Ren’s body, but there’s no vehemence in his voice.

 

“Come to bed with me,” says Ren, and it’s an order, but also, somehow a question. He grabs the champagne bottle and takes a swig of it, toying with the neck of it between his hands. 

 

Hux feels as though he is standing on the edge of a great chasm, yawing open before him, threatening that any wrong step could send him plunging into the abyss. “Alright,” he says, not sure whether it will be his deliverance or his undoing. He lets Ren take him by the hand and lead him upstairs.

 

There’s an awkward silence as they climb onto the bed, neither really knowing what to say. Hux sits cross-legged against the headboard as Ren passes him the bottle. He takes a deep pull, letting the effervescence of the bubbles settle across his tongue and distract him from Ren's gaze. There is distance between them, neither making a move until Ren finally huffs and rolls closer, pulling Hux down into his arms. It’s not terrible.

 

Hux can feel that Ren is hard again, already, cock slipping eagerly between the sticky mess of Hux’s thighs. He tightens his legs and is rewarded with Ren's low moan. "Go on then," he allows, and Ren groans in his ear and humps against him, cock sliding forward until it nudges at Hux's testicles. 

 

"Fuck," slurs Ren, and presses his palm against Hux's thigh, squeezing his legs tighter together. Hux traces a hand along the length of his cock, but its too soon and he's too sensitive, so he settles his hands against his chest instead, toying with his nipples as Ren thrusts with increasing force.

 

"Ah, Hux. Gonna come," he murmurs, "Gonna paint your pretty little thighs." And he does, as promised, spilling himself across the bed with a breathy keen. They pant together, sweaty and tangled within the sheets. Kriff.   

 

Their legs brush beneath the covers and Ren hisses, "Your feet are cold"

 

"None of the shoes fit," says Hux, using a corner of one of the sheets to dab at the mess of his thighs. "I hadn't thought it would get so cold here." He must be dreaming now, he thinks, as the sheer domesticity of the conversation strikes him--but really,  anything is better than attempting to decipher how exactly this changes things.

 

To his relief, Ren seems as reluctant to discuss this new development as he is. "It's technically winter in this hemisphere," says Ren, "But they keep the whole of the lake country in a biodome."

 

Hux huffs out a breath. "That must be exorbitantly expensive."

 

"Mm," agrees Ren, "And it doesn't even work all that well." He slides out of the bed, padding across the cold ground to retrieve additional blankets from a chest standing against the far wall. He pulls several knitted blankets free and brings them over, tucking them around Hux’s feet.

 

Hux rolls over and eyes him with distaste. "Don’t do that. This is just sex. It isn’t—whatever else you’re thinking it is.”

 

"Okay," agrees Ren, burying his face against Hux's chest as he wriggles back under the sheets.

 

They fall asleep like that, and the warmth of Ren’s breath against his skin helps drive off the chill.

***

 

The next morning they wake, limbs entangled, and he fears that Ren will be different, perhaps irreparably changed, but they still bicker as usual as Ren summons breakfast from the droid.

 

"Toast isn't food," grumbles Ren. "They can make anything you want."

 

"I like toast," says Hux. He doesn't, particularly, but he also doesn’t want to admit that he's not sure his stomach can handle more than that at the moment. He's got an odd, fluttering sort of feeling in the pit of his belly and he can't tell if it’s the lingering effects of stim withdrawal, or something else entirely.

 

Ren makes an annoyed sound and flops backward onto the bed. He's at ease here, as comfortable amid the trappings of luxury as he had been in the dirty motel room.  It's easy to imagine, looking at him now, how his life could have been if he'd never developed his gifts. That, he supposes, is the tragedy of Ren—blessings turn to curses when someone decides they're valuable enough.

 

"Did you live here?" he asks eventually, tearing his mind away from that line of thought.

 

"Hm?" says Kylo, eyes fluttering open. "Oh. No. Not most of the time. Sometimes we'd be here for a month or so. They couldn't sit still much longer than that." He rubs his hand along the coverlet. "I was here when I first heard his voice—Snoke," he explains. "In this room actually. I thought—kriff, I was so stupid, I thought it was my grandfather speaking to me." He shakes his head at himself. "He and my grandmother were married here, in secret."

 

"Vader?" 

 

"He wasn't Vader then, but yes. You've probably already seen his statue, or what's left of it."

 

Hux makes a noise of agreement, remembering the shattered remains. The feeling of sadness.

 

"That would be my mother's work," says Kylo wryly.

 

Hux refrains from commenting on the similarities between mother and son in favor of pointing out that breakfast has arrived. In addition to the requested toast, the droid has proffered a heaping mountain of jams, jellies, meats, and cheeses, as well as a small ceramic pot of caf.

 

Kylo immediately sets about making himself a sandwich, eating as though he hasn't had food in weeks. Hux nibbles blithely at a piece of toast, not trusting himself to handle more quite yet.

 

"C'mon," says Kylo after he's eaten his fill and their discussion of whether the worms they'd found on Starkiller had  _really_  constituted an adequate protein source has found a natural conclusion (of course they had, no one had  _died_ ). “Let me show you the grounds.”

***

 

They walk through the gardens, sun-dappled and clear. High above them, if he squints, Hux can make out the shape of the biodome. A swirling, translucently purple bubble against the blue of the sky. He thinks it might be raining, out there, beyond the simulated sunshine, and he is struck with a strange, pervasive feeling that they are running out of time.

 

They fuck again, lying amid the unseasonable flowers, and the feeling abates for a while. He has Ren this time, opening him up with lube-slick fingers as Ren squirms beneath him.

“More,” gasps Kylo, scrunching his face against the intrusion before relaxing into it with a heavy pant. He looks like some holoactor prince, utterly debauched, flowers tangling in his hair as he fucks himself back against Hux’s fingers.

 

Kriff. They could have had years of this, he thinks, remembering every lonely night spent pacing his quarters, too jacked on stims to sleep.

 

“Don’t,” growls Ren, reaching out to pinch his thigh. There’s a piece of grass stuck to his cheek. “We’re here. Now.”

 

The days pass, dreamlike, mornings drifting languorously into afternoons dripping with sweet fruit and the sweeter taste of Ren's mouth. He almost can't bring himself to ask, that night as they lay sweaty amid the sheets, where they are going next.

 

"You really think you're saving me from something," he says, brushing back Ren's hair where it tickles his arm. "Don't you?"

 

"You still don't believe me?"

 

Hux makes a face. "It's just—the  _Force_ , voids, blights. I don't know. I have no point of reference." He toys with the edge of the blanket, "There are so many other explanations—" Kylo opens his mouth, but Hux continues over him. "No. I know the Force is real, it's just—it’s a far cry from levitating fruit to being able to drain the emotion out of a conscious being."

 

"You've seen the Knights, haven't you?" asks Kylo, continuing when Hux makes a surprised noise. "I thought that was what you wanted from the Supre—from Him. For him to do to your stormtroopers what he's done to them." He bites his lip, considering how best to explain. "They're  _hollow,_ I guess. I mean, they're alive, but they're sort of...empty."

 

Hux's lip curls involuntarily. He wants to think that shouldn't bother him, but the thought of empty people sets off some sort of primal disgust in his brain. 

 

"And you?" asks Hux, once the weight of Ren's words have settled over him. 

 

"Me." Kylo sighs darkly. "He wants me to be like him. Empty, but more than empty. The kind of hollow that devours."

 

And indeed, the thought is not so far beyond belief. He feels as though Ren has been consuming him slowly over the past few days, a delicacy to be sweetened up and savored.

 

“Are you?" Asks Hux, running his knuckles absently across his collarbone, as though he'd be able to hear it, the _absence_ , but all he can feel is his pulse beneath his fingers—the same blood, guts, and viscera as ever. "Devouring me, I mean?”

 

Ren shakes his head. "No. Not—no." He reaches out and gently brushes his fingers against Hux's cheek, as though checking that Hux is really present. Really  _real_. "I. But." He rubs his thumb along his knuckles. "In the shuttle. Leaving Starkiller. You. You bandaged my wound. You touched my cheek." His tone is almost accusatory, as if to say,  _see, what else could I have done but take you with me._

 

"I did."

 

“I had orders to kill you.”

 

It feels as though he’s taken a blaster bolt to the chest. Fog roars in his ears. He’s always known, at some level, that his proximity to Ren could end in his death. That his position was tenuous. And yet, hearing the words so bluntly makes his skin go hot and cold at once.

 

He waits, paralyzed, for Ren to say something else, to, to unravel some greater meaning to his words, but he simply nuzzles his head into the center of Hux’s chest, mouthing at one nipple, and then the other, softly suckling until Hux gives in and moans, surrendering to his touch.

 

Ren’s fingers find the edge of Hux’s pajamas, tugging them down over the curve of his ass and leaving them tangled about his thighs. The knight rolls over, folding his body around Hux’s until they lie, two half-moons tucked about each other.

 

“Can I have you?” asks Kylo, canting his hips forward until the head of his cock presses against Hux’s still tender rim.

 

“Yes,” says Hux, tucking his hands under the pillow. _Of course_ , he thinks.

 

Ren breeches him gradually, feeding himself into Hux’s body until he is fully seated. There’s an ethereal softness in the night, like this. A feeling like half-waking from a dream. Hux can hear the gentle lap of the lake against the shore and he shivers.

 

Ren pulls him closer, hands like burning brands against the cold of his skin. They rock together slowly, until they are both gasping for air. Ren’s hand tightens on his hip and Hux knows he must be close.

 

“Will you. Will you come in me,” Hux pants softly. He needs it. Needs to be sure he’s not hollow. Empty. “Fill me up. Please.”

 

“Fuck,” hums Ren against his shoulder, hips undulating. “Yes.” He comes, moments later, with a soft little moan that Hux wishes he could tuck away and keep.

 

“Wish I could. Could keep you like this,” murmurs Kylo sleepily, “Full of me. Mine.”

_Insatiable_ , thinks Hux.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang with me on [tumblr](https://orange-lightsaber.tumblr.com/tagged/my-art) I make art too


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